Northern Star
by Alania Reaver
Summary: Terra has always been a fighter, so District Seven is proud to have her as a tribute for the 42nd Hunger Games. But her strength and spirit alone will not be enough to save her when she discovers a corrupt plot meant to ensure a District One win. She must join together with tributes from the other districts to expose the plot– all before the Games begin. Reviews appreciated!
1. Chapter 1: Battered and Bruised

I swung my axe over my shoulder as soon as I heard the seventh chime of the shift clock. I was free to go home after an excruciatingly long day of work. Despite the frigid weather, my hair was plastered to my face with sweat. But I knew that in just a few minutes, that sweat would freeze and make my skin icy cold, so I rather than going straight home, I followed a crowd of my fellow woodcutters to the locker house, where we kept all the heavy coats we didn't need while working. As I walked, my brother appeared at my side and grumbled, "Look at this splinter! It's gotta be two inches long!" as he tugged out the shard of wood that had embedded itself in his forearm.

I rolled my eyes. "Palmer, you're my big brother. You're supposed to be the tough one."

The three guys in front of us cackled. "Palmer Brisbow? Tough? Yeah right," the shortest of the them said over his shoulder.

"Shut up," I shot back before Palmer could say anything. He just clenched his jaw and awaited the normal string of verbal abuse.

The boy who had spoken, Birch Elwood, turned and blocked our way. "See what I mean? He's gotta get his baby sister to stand up for him." His friends seemed to find this hilarious.

Encouraged by his friends' reaction, he stepped right up under Palmer's nose and said, "Hey, I heard that Sickle saw you kissing another boy the other day. Is that true? I bet it is."

That was the last straw, and not just for me. Palmer, who was usually the most passive guy you'd ever meet, grabbed Birch's shoulders and shoved him away, snarling, "Leave me alone!"

This, predictably, did not make Birch leave him alone. Quite on the contrary, he shoved Palmer right back, even harder, and laughed, "Oh, so the sissy boy wants a fight?" And with that, he punched Palmer square in the jaw, causing him to stumble backwards and grab his bleeding face.

My fists clenched. No one hurt my family, no one made my brother bleed without getting a beating from me.

I dove at Birch's waist and dragged him down onto the cold, dusty ground and straddled him, throwing punches at his face. Filled with a blind rage, I didn't even really think about what I was doing, and I certainly didn't care that I was hurting Birch far more than he'd hurt my brother. Finally, he tossed up his arms to protect himself as his cronies dragged me off him.

My arms still flailing, I screamed, "Oh, who's the sissy boy now? You can't even fight a girl alone!" Held between the two other guys, I felt my heart pounding far more than my physical exertion had warranted. Palmer tried to reach out and grab Birch, but he was too slow. I knew I was in for a beating.

Sure enough, the first blow landed on my stomach. Then my face, my neck, my jaw, my nose. I felt the bridge of my glasses snap and gauge under my eye. As he rested his fist after a slew of attacks, I managed to writhe fast enough to squirm out of the boys' hold, and I threw myself across the ground and grabbed my discarded axe. Pushing Palmer behind me, I held out the tool-turned-weapon and said, "Take one step closer. I dare you."

Birch stepped back, hands held up. "Whoa, whoa, calm down there."

Glaring and bleeding, I let Palmer wrap his arm around my shoulder and lead me away. That is, until I felt one last wave of rage and turned around to throw the axe right into the tree next to Birch's head.

His eyes wide as saucers, he stared with an open mouth at the quivering axe, then ran away as fast as he could, closely followed by his accomplices.

Palmer grabbed the axe from the tree and gently tossed it to me. "What have you done?" he murmured as he wiped the blood from my face with the sleeve of his shirt. His voice was full of guilt, which was not what I wanted to hear.

"Don't worry about me," I said. "I'm fine. Are _you_ okay?"

He nodded, frowning at me. "Of course. I barely got scratched compared to you. Oh, gosh, Terra, this cut under your eyes is really bad." He dabbed off the blood as best he could, then we proceeded to the locker rooms.

Upon arriving at home, I tried my best to sneak into my room without my parents seeing. But of course, as I slowly cracked the door open, I heard my father shout from the kitchen, "Terra! What happened today?"

I sighed and turned the corner to the kitchen, my bruised and beaten head hung in shame. "It was nothing."

"Oh, Terra," my mother whispered as she saw the carnage that was my face. I picked up a clean pan and looked at my reflection; it was worse than I'd thought. My mom took the pan from me and pulled me into a tight embrace. "Oh honey, you know what we've told you about fighting. You're strong, we all know you're strong, but you don't need to get into these terrible fights."

I nestled my face into her shoulder and fought back tears. "I know. I… I know. It's just, they were being so mean to Palmer. That obnoxious guy, that bully Birch was saying all these mean things to him and then punched him, and I, I just got really mad."

My dad turned to Palmer. "She did this for you? You let your little sister get beaten up for you? What kind of man do you think you are?"

Palmer stepped back. "I… I didn't want her to. I told her not to. But you know how she is when she's mad! Before I knew it, she was just tackling him and punching him and there was nothing I could do." Tears streaked down through the grime and blood on his face, and his voice cracked painfully at the end of his sentence. I was torn- on one hand, I really wanted to step in and help him, but my doing just that was the reason Dad was yelling at him anyway. So I stood silently with Mom's arm wrapped around my shoulders and watched.

To an average observer, Dad would have appeared perfectly calm. But to Palmer and Mom and me, he was clearly brimming with fury, about to start yelling if Palmer said a single thing wrong.

"You could have fought those boys off! If Terra could take him, you sure as hell better have been able to! You've been a woodcutter for how many years? Eight, nine? Hasn't that made you strong? Hm. I suppose strength means nothing if you're a coward, though."

Palmer seemed to shrink smaller and smaller with every word, every accusation. He tried to respond, but he was crying to hard to even get out a single word.

Finally, I stepped in. "Come on, Dad," I muttered. "Aren't you gonna tell me how strong I am for beating up a guy? For standing up for myself, for my family?"

He whirled around to stare me down, his heavy brow furrowed over his deep-set black eyes. I immediately regretted my decision to speak up.

"I don't want a daughter who goes around beating up guys! What the hell kind of man is going to want a wife who might try to beat the shit out of him?"

"I don't care! I'm seventeen, Dad. I'm not going to get married any time soon! And besides, would you rather me marry a man who might try to beat the shit out of _me_?"

"Yes!" he shouted in reply. One simple word that hurt worse every punch Birch had landed on me. I winced, and I was sure the neighbors could hear him by this point. He always got louder as he got madder.

And I lost it. I mean, I really, really lost it at this point. It was like tackling Birch all over again, except this time I was throwing words instead of punches. And three little words were all it took.

"I hate you!" I screamed. Did I really, truly hate my own father? No, probably not. But in that moment, did I really, truly _believe_ I did? Definitely. I certainly didn't regret what I'd said. Not then, at least.

The whole room fell silent. My mother covered her mouth with both her hands, Palmer stared at me slack-jawed, and my father became completely still. Not a single hair on his head twitched.

I turned and quietly closed myself in my room. The rough fabric of my sheets provided little physical comfort, but it was a blessedly familiar feeling against my aching skin. But I had no time to rest. My father was beating on the door to my room, shouting, "Open the door, Terra! Now!"

But I was already tossing some clothes into my backpack. An extra coat, a blanket, the few bits of food I had laying around. Just enough supplies for a couple days, enough time for tempers to cool. And with that bag, I hopped out of my window, landing deftly on the frozen ground. The moon lit the forest up in a silvery white glow, casting long shadows across the dirt and making the pine trees look like black spears stabbing the sky. I didn't really have anywhere to go, so I headed into the forest, away from civilization. When my feet couldn't carry me any farther, I tossed my blankets down on the ground and curled up in them. I tried my best to block out the day's events, but images of Birch and Palmer and my father my own destroyed face kept surfacing in my mind.

I really was out of luck- and that was putting it mildly. My father was furious at me, and he was even more mad at Palmer, whom I'd left home alone with him, and I'd broken my glasses so I could barely see, and I'd run away from home, and I was sleeping on a blanket in the middle of a frozen forest.

For the first time since that morning, I remembered something. Something I, nor any other young citizen of Panem, should ever forget. Tomorrow was the Reaping. And at seventeen, I was a prime target for tribute. But oddly enough, I couldn't bring myself to stress about it. I was too physically and emotionally exhausted to even worry.

So I curled up tighter under my wool and burlap blankets and quickly fell asleep.

Morning broke cold and dewey with a thin covering of frost on the ground. I groaned as I tried to sit up; the combination of the beating I'd undergone the previous day mixed with the fact that I'd slept on a tree root made my whole whole body ache something terrible.

I had to get myself to the Reaping. It was as if I'd recalled that I had to go to the grocery stall that day or something; I felt that disconnected from it. So as I changed into a clean outfit and tried to wipe the last of the dried blood off my face, I repeatedly reminded myself that this was in fact happening, that at the end of the day there was a chance that I would be a tribute in the 42nd annual Hunger Games. I tried to focus on that instead of the pain that coursed through every particle of my body, or on the events of the previous day. It was funny, really, that I found the idea of becoming a tribute better than facing my brother and father. Perhaps it was because my fights were real, and the idea of being chosen at the Reaping was just a vague possibility. I'd never even

We really were supposed to dress nicely for the Reaping, but at this point that was kind of out of the question. So I pulled back my long black hair, tucked in my shirt, and tried not to get too much dirt on anything. I managed to find my way out of the woods back into town, where I joined in the stream of people heading to the town square, where the Reaping Stage had been set up.

Checking into the Reaping seemed like a normal routine by this point in my life. I'd done it five times, but it seemed like more than that. The finger prick, the crowds, the noise, the roped-off age groups. I didn't see anyone I knew, and honestly I didn't really want to. Everyone around me seemed tense and nervous, whispering to each other with furrowed brows or just standing there in shaky silence. But I hurt to bad to worry.

Standing with the other seventeen-year-olds, I realized that a lot of people were staring at me. Not only was I dressed in old pants, work boots, and a baggy, faded wool shirt, but I also must have been positively black and blue with bruises. I could actually feel the swelling of my right eye, where my glasses had cut me, and realized that the unwashed wound had likely gotten infected. I saw Birch staring at me through the crowd, and I leveled my gaze back at him. _Yes, you did this to me_, my expression said. To be fair, though, he did have several purplish-green blotches on his face too. Then he turned away from me and focused on the stage.

District Seven's escort emerged. A short, curvy young woman wearing typically absurd Capital clothes stepped up to the microphone. She wasn't nearly as ridiculous as many of the past escorts that I remembered. She wasn't wearing too much makeup, for one, so she didn't look totally inhuman. Also, although her hair was dyed inky black with pale blue streaks, it was styled simply and elegantly in a clean bun. "Hello, my dear District Seven! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Decima Lynn, and I will be your tributes' escort for the 42nd annual Hunger Games."

A few people clapped unenthusiastically. At least her voice wasn't as comically high-pitched as many Capital citizens'.

She gave a trite speech about how glorious the Hunger Games were and showed the required movie about the history of the gladiatorial practice, and the clapped when the governor gave a speech. But for some reason, I got the feeling that she wasn't as enamored with the Games as most people were. There was a sort of sadness in her face as she reached for the first glass bowl. "And the boy who will be tribute for District Seven is…."

You could have heard a feather drop in the middle of the crowd.

"…Sickle Midian!"

A tall, beautiful, dark-haired boy pushed his way out of the eighteen-year-olds' pen. The rest of the crowd parted as he strode quickly and surely towards the stage. He was the kind of young man who commanded respect, despite being from one of the poorer districts of Panem. A prince born in dirt. His quick blue eyes seemed to take in everyone around him and see right into them. His eyes briefly met mine, and chills shot down my spine.

"Ooh, such a handsome tribute! And strong, too! I daresay District Seven has a great shot to win this year," Decima enthused. Sickle stood next to her, towering over her despite her high-heeled shoes.

"And would you like to learn which lucky lady will be joining you?" She made it sound like some sort of game show. Which, I realized, is exactly what it is to people who never have to fear participating.

"Just get it over with," he snarled.

"Oh, everyone does love a dark and brooding hero!" she exclaimed. I realized that every time she made a cheerful quip, she looked right at the cameras and beamed, but when she was looking right at the crowd or Sickle, her smile faded and her face darkened. "And now for the lady tribute." Her manicured hand reached into the second bowl and grasped a tiny slip of white paper.

She unfolded it and before she even spoke, I knew deep down just what she would say.

"Terra Brisbow!"

My heart dropped into my feet. I began breathing deeply, way too deeply, and I almost forgot to move my feet, to walk up to the stage. I moved as if in a trance, the people around me staring in silence. The stairs to the stage seemed to launch me up and suddenly I was in front of the whole crowd, the entirety of District Seven. I locked eyes with my father, and saw tears streaming down his face. Next to him, Palmer had his arm wrapped around my weeping mother as they sobbed.

Sickle, looking dapper as can be in a crisp white collared shirt and dark pants, seemed all the more resplendent next to me, in my dirty work clothes. But he wasn't looking at me with distaste or haughtiness; rather, his expression was one of utter horror. But why? I'd never even seen this boy in my whole life. Then I remembered something Birch had said- "Sickle saw you kissing another boy the other day." So this guy knew my brother, and was spreading rumors about him that got him beaten up and teased. But in a way, that made his reaction all the more confusing. If he disliked Palmer so much, why was he so horrified to see his sister picked as tribute?

I decided that there would be plenty of time to figure that out later. For now, we were being led back to the community center, where we would say goodbye to our families and board the train. Sickle and I were sent into different rooms, where we each sat and waited alone. The room I sat in was sparsely decorated in shades of white and grey. A bit of natural sunlight found its way in through cracks in the metal blinds on the single window, but most of the light came from a flickering florescent strip in the ceiling, bathing the grey surroundings in a sickly greenish glow.

Finally, the door creaked open and my family entered. Their eyes were all swollen and red from crying, even my father's. I jumped from my seat and threw my arms around Palmer and Mom. All three of us began crying again, so I quickly pulled away and wiped my eyes. Now wasn't the time to be weak; not now, not until after the Games. If there was an after.

"I'm so sorry for what I said, Terra," Dad whispered. I could tell that it hurt his pride to say it, and I knew for sure that he wouldn't have said it at all if the situation had been different, if I hadn't been getting ready to ship off the the Hunger Games and my possible death.

"It's okay," I replied, though I was still mad about what he'd said. "Do I have your permission to beat up boys now?"

He choked out a laugh through his tears. "Yeah, honey. You go get 'em. And come back to us, okay? You've gotta come back."

I nodded. "I will. No matter what." And I really meant it- nothing would stop me from coming home, no matter what I had to do in the Games. No matter how they tried to dehumanize us.

Before I knew it, security guards came into the room and told my parents that our time was up, that I had to board the train to the Capital now. As they left the room, Palmer called over his shoulder, "Terra! About Sickle-" But the guards silenced him before he could finish.

I followed a guard out onto the platform, where the train waited just for us. Decima Lynn and Sickle stood by the door, and when I reached them, they allowed me to board first. I think they could tell that I'd been crying.

They followed me on board, and as soon as the door slid close behind us, the train lurched off to the south.


	2. Chapter 2: Rising Stars

Decima led us into the main car of the train, where a table was set with a massive spread of food. At the far end of the table sat a man with buzzed blond hair who slouched in his chair, with his thick arms crossed over his equally strong-looking chest. This must be Grover Silvin, I realized. The winner of the 32nd Hunger Games, and our mentor for this year. He'd won when he was only fourteen, and there hadn't been another District Seven winner since.

"Grover!" Decima said cheerfully. "Meet your tributes. Mr. Sickle Midian and Miss Terra Brisbow."

Grover looked us up and down with dark brown eyes. "Good. They look strong. And, um, Terra, what the hell happened to your face?"

I laughed awkwardly and replied, "I got in a fight with three guys."

"Did you win?"

"They ended up running away, so I'd say so," I said with a confident smile. Something about Grover was oddly welcoming, and he seemed to wholeheartedly approve of my scrappy nature. I guess that when you're about to enter a gladiatorial death-match against twenty-three other people, a knack for fighting is a good thing.

"Well, as much as I can respect that, I don't think the folks in the Capital will like to see such a bruised-up tribute, no matter how she got that way. Decima, do you wanna get her some of that healing cream?"

Decima nodded and gestured for me to head into the next train car. She pulled a drawer open and sorted through a mess of vials, tubes, jars, and cans. Finally she found what she was looking for, a little round glass tub of white liquid with a green lid. "This should do the trick. We can't have a tribute show up in the Capital with a pulverized face. Of course, you will be getting a total makeover upon arrival, but this cream takes time to work."

"So I have to walk around with goo on my face?" I grumbled. "Well, as long as it'll heal my face."

"Sit down there and stay still. Yep, just stay like that. Okay, this might sting." I closed my eyes and tried not to wince as the pressure of Decima's fingers against my sore cheeks made my face throb. She worked quickly, and soon my whole face was covered in a slathering of thick cream. Then the stinging began.

My whole body tensed. "Oh, dear, the stinging's started, hasn't it?" Decima said. "Just hold tight, it shouldn't last long."

I couldn't find the strength to reply, but she was right, thankfully. I sat still and tense for a few minutes, and the pain began to subside slowly. Eventually I managed to stand up and poke my head into the other car, where Decima, Sickle, and Grover sat eating a feast fit for kings. "Can I eat with this stuff on?" I asked. I hadn't eaten a single bite since lunch the previous day, but the last two days' events had distracted me from my hunger. Now that I had nothing to do but wait to arrive in the Capital, my stomach growled and ached.

"Yup," Grover said. "Come join us."

I needed no more prompting. I pulled up a chair and began piling my plate with everything in reach, although I recognized only a few of the foods. I saw that Sickle's plate was piled similarly high, so I didn't feel as much like a pig. "So," I said. "My brother knew you, didn't he?"

Sickle suddenly seemed very interested in his food, refusing to look up at me when he grumbled, "Yeah."

"The boy who did this to me," I said, pointing to my face, "He did it because I was protecting my brother. After Palmer shoved him for something he said."

Sickle's jaw was visibly tense, and his knuckles were white around his fork and knife. It was like he knew what I was going to say, but he didn't want to hear it.

"The guy, Birch, said _you_ told him that you saw Palmer kissing a guy. That's what started the whole fight. That's the reason I got beat up."

"I didn't want that. I never wanted anything like this. I just didn't know what to say and I told Birch something I shouldn't have said because I never thought he'd do anything about it, hell, I didn't even think he'd remember it two minutes after I said it." He was rambling, his sentences rolling into one and his voice shaking. He looked up at me, finally, and said more calmly, "I never wanted anything bad to happen to Palmer, or you. Honestly."

Decima and Grover clearly had no idea what was going on, and I was little more informed. "So you're saying you lied to Birch? Why?"

"I was talking to my friend about Palmer, and Birch overheard part of it and started taunting me, so I told him… I told him what he told you." His gaze returned to his plate.

"What were you saying to your friend?" I asked, although honestly I already knew what he was going to say.

"I was telling her about how _I_ had kissed Palmer."

Horror filled me. Not at the fact that Palmer liked guys, I couldn't have cared less about that. But at the idea that I was going to have to fight in the Hunger Games against Sickle. Either Palmer would have to watch his sister die, or his first love. No matter the outcome, someone he loved was going to die. It was inevitable. Perhaps we would even have to fight each other, and one would kill the other. That was what Palmer had tried to tell me as the security guards led them out. That was why Sickle had looked so horrified when my name was called. Because he recognized my last name.

I could tell that Decima and Grover were putting the story together too, and they looked at both of us with pity in their eyes.

We finished our meal in silence. After that conversation, I felt significantly less inclined to eat, despite my gnawing hunger. So I nibbled on a bit of chicken and some vegetables, all of us silent. After I finished eating, I suddenly slammed my fork on the table and gasped aloud, "I still have that crap on my face!"

There was a pause, and the other three started laughing, and I quickly followed. It was just such an absurd moment, that through that whole conversation I'd had a face covered in bruise cream. I must have looked positively ridiculous.

"I think we can probably wash it off now. It should be done working," Decima said.

I returned to the smaller car and turned on the sink, surprised that there was a knob for warm water as well as cold. We didn't have that option at home. So I splashed refreshingly warm water all over my face and dried it off with a fluffy, soft towel. Looking in the mirror over the sink, I realized that my bruises had completely healed. I could even touch my face without it feeling sore or swollen. The only trace of my injuries was a small red line under my eye. Seeing that reminded me that I still didn't have my glasses; perhaps that was why I felt as if I'd been living in a fog all day. Not because of the strangeness of the events, but because everything more than a few feet in front of me looked hazy. It was an almost comical realization.

Reemerging from the small car to join the others at the table, I asked Decima, "Do you guys happen to have any glasses? I mean, like eyeglasses. I have kind of bad eyes, and my glasses got punched off my face yesterday."

Grover raised his bushy blond eyebrows. "Well, I'm impressed that you didn't trip over yourself coming up to the Reaping Stage," he laughed.

"Sorry, dear, we don't. But don't worry! When you get to the Capital, they'll fix your eyes so that you won't need to wear glasses anymore," Decima replied.

I wasn't sure how to reply to that. On one hand, I was glad to hear that I wouldn't have to worry about dealing with glasses during training or the Games, but on the other hand, did I really trust a bunch of Capital scientists to cut open my eyes and try to fix them? I supposed the Gamemakers couldn't just let them ruin a tribute, though, so they must know what they're doing.

"You know, you do look a lot like Palmer now that I can actually see your face," Sickle said suddenly, tilting his head to the side and staring at me with intense blue eyes. "You have the same eyes." There was a sadness in his voice that was painful to hear; I could tell that he really cared about my brother.

He looked down at the table and said, "You know, the last time I saw him before the Reaping, he said if it had been a year ago and he was still eighteen, he would volunteer in my place if I were chosen. I guess it's a damn good thing he's too old now."

I nodded as the horror of that possibility realized itself in my mind. If Sickle's name had been pulled out of that bowl, and Palmer had volunteered instead- then my name was chosen afterward. The sad thing was, I don't think anyone would have volunteered for me, saved me from that fate. Not even my friends. District Seven didn't have enough pride in the Hunger Games.

Decima and Grover were clearly uncomfortable every time we brought up Palmer. And I could understand why.

To break the awkward silence, Grover said, "So, Terra. I gather that you're a bit of a fighter. That should help you in the Games, right?"

I shrugged. "I guess. I mean, I've never really learned how to _really _fight. You know, like martial arts or anything. But I am pretty fast, and I have a mean left hook. Oh, and I'm a woodcutter, so I'm good with axes too."

"Excellent," Grover replied. "And what about you, Sickle? Do you have any skills that'll help you?"

He thought for a moment. "Well, I'm a carpenter, so I'm used to working with saws and knives and stuff, and I'm pretty strong. Plus I'll be able to make a great lean-to if the Games are in the woods," he laughed.

"Well, that's something!" Grover chuckled. "And you're big enough and old enough that you'll probably intimidate a lot of the younger or smaller tributes. That may not seem like much, but it can mean the difference between life and death in a fight."

"I can be intimidating too!" I chirped. "I mean, I made three guys run away from me in fear."

Grover smiled. "I'm sure you can be. But perhaps more importantly, you can also look harmless and innocent, because you're so small and pretty. That might even be a better advantage than fear. Remember, only the Careers are trained killers. Everyone else is just a kid like you guys. If in that last moment before someone sinks a knife into your heart, you can make them feel so horrifically guilty that they can't do it, then you can win."

I crossed my arms and tried not to think about that. It was one thing being in a fist fight with some other kids, where you knew that the worst that could happen was a beat-up face or _maybe_ a broken bone or something, but being in a deathmatch with twenty-three strangers was something else entirely. You couldn't win by scaring the others off. Either you killed them, or they killed you.

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to train before the Games begin," Decima said. "For now, we have to make sure you're presentable to the Capital. Terra, you look much nicer now that your face is back to normal. But I'm afraid the people of the Capital have already seen you all battered and bruised on television during the Reaping. I'm not sure how that'll affect their opinion of you. See, most of the people in the Capital are a very fickle type, and unpredictable. They might see your bruises and your ripped clothes as a sign that either you're tough and resilient, or that you have no class or femininity. It's really quite impossible to tell at this point."

"But what if I'm all four of those things?" I asked.

Grover and Sickle laughed, but Decima replied, "I think you'll find that most of the Capital can't comprehend someone that complex."

I frowned. Decima seemed at odds with the Capital; she had already sort of insulted them several times. I decided not to ask about that now, but I kept it in the back of my mind. Maybe not everyone in the Capital was so bad after all.

"You guys should probably rest up before we reach the Capital," Grover said finally. "Terra, your bunk is two cars down. Sickle, yours is three."

We both stood up and left the train car. It was the first time we'd been alone together. The tension in the air was excruciating; there was something terrible about standing side by side with someone you really though you could be good friends with, if you didn't have to kill each other in the end. Especially when that person was your brother's secret boyfriend.

I opened the door to my bedroom compartment on the third car, and Sickle continued down the hallway to the next one. I tumbled down on the soft bed and nestled into the pillow, staring out the window next to me. The pine trees were already thinning, with increasingly frequent expanses of grass. It made me wonder where the Games would be held this year. I hoped they were in the dense evergreen forests like those of my home, but I knew that was a slim chance. Perhaps they would be in the desert, or the tundra, or a swampy bog somewhere down south. Wherever it was, I just hoped that it wasn't hot. I was used to the frigid temperatures of the northern reaches of Panem, and I doubted I'd adjust well to anything too warm.

I tried to wrench my thoughts away from the Games. I still had my training, my interviews, everything I'd watched from a distance on television back home, never thinking that it could actually be me one day. Unable to focus on anything comforting, I tried to imagine what my outfit for the chariot ride would be like. I hoped they didn't dress me up as a tree or pinecone or squirrel like they've done practically every year. I'd always hated that. They said that the costumes were supposed to capture the spirit of our district, yet anyone who looked at a picture or two of District Seven could've designed those costumes. There was nothing about the District's spirit in them, just its image.

And then, of course, I had to seem likable enough to gain sponsors. That could be a significant issue, especially considering my less-than-ladylike appearance at the Reaping. I would just have to step up my game. If there was one thing had going for me, it was survival instinct. If that meant that I had to pretend to be ultra-feminine, dainty, polite, demure, sexy, anything- I'd do it, because my life might depend on it, and that was one thing more important to me than my pride.

_Knock, knock, knock_. Three light taps on my door jerked me from my reverie. I opened the door to find Decima standing there. "Oh, hey," I said.

"Hello, dear," she replied. "May I speak to you for a moment?" I couldn't read her tone at all; in fact, Decima herself was nearly impossible to read.

"Uh, yeah," I murmured, stepping aside to allow her to enter. "What is it?"

She leaned with her back against the footboard of my and beamed, her hands clasped below her chin. "I've just spoken to some very high-up people at the Capital, and apparently the public _adores_ you! They love anything that's unusual and new, and your Reaping was certainly that. Plus, they're saying that this year is District Seven's best chance for a win in a decade! You and Sickle are the oldest non-Career pair of tributes, and everyone can tell because of how you carried yourself despite your injuries that you're a tough one, someone to be reckoned with. They even have a nickname for you!"

I couldn't help but smile and laugh- maybe I wouldn't have to pretend to be someone else to get support. "A nickname? Seriously? What is it?"

"They're calling you District Seven's Northern Star."

My grin widened. In school we were always taught that the Northern Star, the brightest one in the night sky, was a way for lost travelers to find their way home. And I would be my District's star, leading us to a victory.

"That's amazing," I gasped. After the shock and joy sank in, I added, "And what about Sickle? Do they like him too?"

"Oh, of course! A handsome young man like that will always have supporters, even if it's mostly teenage girls. And apparently the girls of the Capital like him even more than both the Career boys that everyone thought would be most popular, Lucanus from District Two and Dirk from District One. The Capital does tend to love that dark and mysterious look, and Sickle's certainly got that. I mean, I paid good money for my black hair and blue eyes, and he's got them naturally!"

I found that I was quickly coming to like Decima. She seemed a bit scatter-brained at times, but not nearly so much as most Capital people. And moreover she came across as genuine and honest, like she was really happy for us that we were so popular. And it wasn't even in a "they're popular so they might get enough sponsors for one to win, and I'll get a better district next year" kind of way. She sincerely seemed to care about us.

But maybe I was just being idealistic.

"Well, I'll let you get some rest now," she said. "You deserve it!"

"Okay. See you when we get to the Capital, I guess," I replied.

She smiled and departed from my room. I collapsed back down onto my bed, but this time I was filled with hope and excitement. Maybe I really could do this, could win the whole thing. If enough potential sponsors already though I was tough and interesting, they'd want to keep me alive as long as possible in the Games.

I pulled my soft covers up over my shoulders, still fully dressed in my raggedy work clothes, and quickly fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3: Night and Day

I was awoken at the crack of dawn as the sun's rays warmed my tired face through the window of the speeding train car. Sitting up, I ran my fingers through my matted black hair and watched the sun rising over the mountains. We must be close to the Capitol by this point, I thought numbly. It was as if half of me was rejecting reality, trying to put on the brakes against the coming onslaught of the Games, but my other half just wanted to run headfirst into things and get it over with, get into the Games and either win or die trying.

I watched the sunrise, lost in my thoughts, for what felt like an interminable amount of time. Then I heard three soft knocks on my door, and called out, "Come in."

Decima slid the door open and leaned on the frame. "Oh, you're up already. Fantastic! We'll be arriving in the Capitol any minute now. You don't need to worry about looking perfect because you're just going to be given a makeover by the Games' professional stylists, but there are some clean clothes and cosmetics in this dresser, if you feel so inclined."

She was way too chipper for this early in the morning. I groggily nodded and pulled the drawers open, digging for something reasonable.

"Come out to breakfast when you're done, okay?" Decima said, then backed out and shut the door.

I finally found some comfortable-looking clothes, although the pants were much tighter than what I was used to. None of the shoes in the closet looked remotely comfortable, so I just laced back on my work boots. I tried to brush out my hair too, but a few minutes and several broken brush teeth later, I gave up and pulled it into a messy bun.

Sickle was already at breakfast when I got there. He too was dressed in fresh Capitol clothes, with a sharp military-style black jacket that emphasized his icy pale skin. I could tell that Decima approved of our new looks. This suspicion was confirmed when she said, "I love the clothes you two picked out. You're being viewed as the sort of rebel, tough-kid duo, and you're doing a good job of looking the part."

I'd never thought of myself as a rebel, nor did I try to look like one. But I guess to the frilly, fashion-obsessed Capitol, plain pants and tough boots were a pretty rebellious look.

The breakfast table was set with just as much food as dinner had been. I dug into piles of sweet fruit pastries dusted with powdered sugar, warm stacks of buttered pancakes, links of savory sausage. I'd never eaten so much delicious food before in my life. And now that the awkward conversations between me and Sickle from last night were over, I could fully enjoy my meal. That is, until it was cut short by the train lurching to a stop unexpectedly.

"We've arrived!" Decima exclaimed. "Oh, I hope you like the Capitol! I'm sure you will!"

I'd probably like it until it sent me to my death, I thought cynically. Decima led us out of the train, with Grover taking up the rear. As soon as I set foot off the train, my mouth dropped open. The Capitol sprawled before us, its towering spires reaching up into the sky. It was loud, hectic, chaotic. But now wasn't the time to explore it. Decima beckoned for us to keep close to her as she hurried into the closest building. I saw a couple of other new arrivals, all groups of four people- tributes, escorts, and mentors. I also realized that roped off some distance back were crowds of cheering… fans, I guess you could say. As we entered the building, one of the other tributes met my eyes- probably a Career, by the looks of him. I wondered if he was one of the boys Decima had mentioned; he was certainly attractive enough. Then we both looked away, being led different ways by our escorts.

"You two go separate ways for a little while here," Decima said. "Terra, I'm going to take you to your makeover, and Grover will take Sickle to his."

The halls of the building were crowded with a huge variety of people, and I couldn't tell who was a tribute and who was a citizen of the Capitol. Decima put her hand on my shoulder to keep me from getting lost and directed me to a stark white door with "7F" inscribed in black in the center. "This is your room," she said. "And this is where I leave you for now. I'll see you after you're done, okay?"

I nodded and went through the door, trying my best not to feel worried. Honestly, if I had been able to believe that it was just going to be a little bit of makeup and hair-brushing, I wouldn't have been nervous at all. But every year I saw how different the tributes looked afterwards, and Decima had already told me that they were going to do some sort of surgery on my eyes.

I sat with my legs folded on the metal table in the middle of the room until someone entered the room. The first thing that struck me was that she didn't look human at all. Her skin was dyed pale blue with darker blue leopard-like spots, and her hair was deep indigo. I would've bet that her eyes were dyed some absurd color too, but I couldn't see them behind her huge round sunglasses, despite the fact that we were inside a room with no windows, lit only by a few florescent lights.

"Hello, dearie! You must be…." she flipped a page over on her clipboard. "Terra! I'm Janina Seem, and I'll be your District's stylist this year! Oh, I see that Decima fixed up your bruises. Good girl. But your hair's still just a total rat's nest, and all these little scrapes on your arms, oh do you smell like a campfire!"

She flittered around the room as she spoke, gathering up bottles and razors and brushes. She reminded me of a demented fairy, hectically zooming around the room and gathering supplies to work her magic. "Now," she said in her high-pitched Capitol accent, "It says on my papers that you have bad eyes. We'll just get a surgeon in here real quick to fix that, okay dearie?"

I nodded eagerly; I'd been terrified that Janina herself was going to do my surgery. She probably wouldn't have even taken off her sunglasses.

"Here dearie, just lay down there and I'll get you ready for the procedure." I followed her instructions, and she pulled a needle out of a plastic package and attached it to the end of a clear tube.

"What's that?" I asked, my whole body tense.

"Oh, don't worry," Janina replied, sliding the needle into the soft flesh of my inner elbow. In seconds I had fallen into a deep sleep.

When my eyes flickered open, the world was crystal sharp, much more so than even when I had my old glasses on. I could read the text on posters on the wall that I hadn't even noticed were there before. Even colors seemed somehow more vibrant. I briefly wondered if they'd done something to make my eyes better than natural vision, but then I realized that that would give me an unfair advantage, so this was probably what regular perfect vision looked like. I just didn't remember because it had been so long since I'd had glasses that were up-to-date, since they were so expensive.

I jumped and gasped when Janina leaned her face over mine and squeaked, "You're awake, dearie! Excellent!"

I sat up, rubbing the back of my head, and muttered, "So they're all done with the surgery? I don't feel a thing."

Janina nodded as she sorted through her pre-collected pile of beauty supplies. "Of course not! That's Capitol science for you. It's so wonderful, isn't it?"

"Yeah," I said. Then my voice dropped and became icy. "I wonder why they don't let any of the other Districts have access to it."

I could see from the creases on Janina's blue spotted forehead that she was upset by this. Then she shrugged and said, "That's the way the Capitol wants it to be, of course. I'm sure they have their reasons for it."

"By 'reasons,' do you mean money?" I asked. I know it wasn't fair to jab Janina with these questions, but I was mad and needed to get my frustration out somehow, and she was the only person around. And besides, she was basically the epitome of Capitol extravagance, from her dyed skin to her bejeweled dress to her feathery high heels.

I could tell that she really had never though about it. "I don't know, dearie. It's just the way things are. There's no need to worry about it. Here, let me put this in your hair. It'll help me brush it without hurting you!"

She massaged a thick, pungent cream into my hair and washed her hands off. "Now, your new eyes are very nice, but I think we need to trim up those shaggy eyebrows of yours!"

I tried not to take offense at this, so I just closed my eyes and tried not to wince as Janina began pulling individual eyebrow hairs out with tweezers. When she finished, my eyes were badly watering.

She held up a gem-encrusted handheld mirror to my face. "There, doesn't that look nice, dearie?"

She was right, my eyebrows did look nice and shapely, and I noticed that they'd scrubbed my skin clean. And my eyes were bright violet.

I snatched the mirror from her and stared deep into my eyes. That was what she'd meant when she said my "_new_ eyes looked nice." They'd quite literally given my eyeballs a makeover, and changed their color.

I throw the mirror across the room and watched as it shattered in a dazzling spray of glass and crystals. The tinkling they made as they bounced against the linoleum floor was one of the most satisfying noises I'd ever heard. Janina squeaked and jumped back. "Now, dearie–"

"No!" I shouted. "What the– what the _freaking_ hell did you let them do to me? I never said they could do that! I _never_ said they could mess with my body without my permission! They were just supposed to fix my vision!"

Janina seemed genuinely scared of me. "Calm down, Terra. We all just thought you need a little, you know, a little something to make you pop more! So many of the other girl tributes have nice bright blue and green eyes, and yours were a little bit muddy-looking. This is a good thing!"

I took deep breaths and curled my knees up under my chin. I remembered what I'd told myself on the train: I'd be anything they needed me to be in order to win. And if that meant letting them change my eye color, that was just the way it had to be. But it still infuriated me. Everyone said that Palmer and I both had my mother's eyes, so I felt like that was one part of me that had inextricably tied me to my family. And those surgeons had changed it just for the sake of aesthetics, and misguided aesthetics at that.

I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye and muttered, "I'm sorry."

Janina seemed to relax a little and said, "It's okay. I know this all must be stressful for you."

I nodded and rubbed the back of my hand under my eye, clearing away the tear tracks on my cheeks. "What now?"

"Um, your hair," Janina said, scrambling to gather up her supplies. I noticed that she tossed aside what appeared to be a vial of orangish hair dye. Then she started brushing through my hair with a big comb to get out of the worst knots and twigs. I'd almost forgotten that two nights ago, I'd slept on the frozen forest floor.

The cream she'd put in did help, and the experience wasn't as painful as I'd thought. Soon my hair was sleek and gleaming, and it felt like spun silk as I ran my fingers through it.

"Thank you," I said delicately.

Janina smiled. I think she was finally sure that I wasn't going to start throwing things or breaking stuff again.

"My pleasure. You have lovely hair," she replied. "But, see, your ends are all dry and split, so I'm going to trim them off. Just the ends, okay, dearie? Nothing big, just an inch or two."

I couldn't help laughing sheepishly at her nervousness. "It's fine. Go ahead."

She began snipping at my hair and within minutes she stepped away. "Hm." She began holding clumps of my up at various heights and in various places across my face. "Can I give you a little bit of side bangs? I think it'll frame your face nicely."

I doubted she asked every tribute for their permission to cut their hair. I forced a smile and said, "Of course. You're the pro."

Janina nodded, clearly happy for my changed attitude. A few more scissor snips, and a short bit of hair swept across my forehead and framed my face perfectly, just as she had predicted.

"Okay dearie, now I'll just do your nails and you'll be done!"

That I was glad to hear. "Okay, awesome." I held out my hands and let her clip, file, buff, polish, and paint them solid white. I'd calmed down considerably since my mirror-smashing tantrum, so I relaxed and let myself enjoy being pampered.

A few minutes later Decima came to pick me up, accompanied by Sickle. He didn't really look much different, just cleaner and neater. And his eyes were still the same color.

"How did things go?" Decima asked.

"Well, I think Janina is permanently terrified of me," I said. "I kind of threw some stuff. And broke a mirror and yelled at her."

Sickle laughed. "Of course you did. I'm glad she got to me while they were still doing your surgery."

"Speaking of which," Decima interjected, "I see that they changed your eye color. Does this happen to have anything to do with your, eh, fit?"

I blushed a little. "Yeah, you could say that. I was just really upset. I'm better now."

"Getting into fights, breaking things, scaring stylists. You really are living up to your rebel reputation," Decima said with a bit of a smile turning up the corners of her dark red lips. "But you better try to stay on Janina's good side from now on. She might seem a little, um, silly to someone who was raised in your circumstances, but she will be designing your chariot outfits, and that display can often make or break the deal with a lot of sponsors later on."

Cringing, Sickle said, "She's not going to try to dye us pink or anything, is she?"

"Yeah, what woodland stuff could she possibly know enough about to design costumes around it?" I added.

Decima grinned smugly. "She and I discussed some possible ideas before I left for the Reaping, and I think she has a couple that you'll actually like. Now, we just need to hope she picks one of those over the other more… extravagant ones."

Sickle and I both tried to pry for more information, but she refused to budge. Apparently she wasn't even supposed to say that she knew any ideas. That discussion helped pass the time while we walked through the labyrinthian halls of the building, arriving at the holding room where we'd stay until we had to get ready for the chariot rides.

I had expected a simple, utilitarian room where all of the tributes would stay together, but I couldn't have been more off. We had our own room, and it was almost as big as my whole house back home. I could hardly believe that the Capitol lived like this all the time, for their whole lives. Did they realize just how luxurious their lifestyle was? Did they even know that people in Districts like mine didn't have hot water or good access to medical care or proper education? And other Districts, like Eleven and Twelve, were even worse off. All these people ever saw of our lives was what the Capitol allowed to be aired during the Reaping Days and Victory Tours. In a way, I couldn't even blame them for being ignorant of the real world. It's not like they had any way of knowing how our lives were; the high-up people in the government made sure of that. I doubted anyone other than escorts and peacekeepers were even allowed to visit the Districts.

I sat on the velvet-covered couch and felt the softness of the fabric, the comfort of the thick cushions. All around me there was silk and gold, and everything was perfectly clean and new. Despite having been scrubbed raw earlier, I felt as if just sitting on the couch made it dirtier, like I was impure and corrupting the sterile perfection of the room.

After Decima left to go find Janina, Sickle sat down next to me and unceremoniously put his feet up on the intricately carved silver coffee table. "You look like you're nervous just to breathe," he observed.

I shrugged. "I sort of am. This place is just so alien, you know?"

He nodded and leaned back. "We've only been here a few hours and I already miss the smell of pines, you know? And the feeling of being dwarfed by trees and cliffs and mountains, not by giant buildings."

I couldn't have agreed more. We talked for a little while longer, mostly reminiscing about District Seven and our lives there, carefully avoiding any mention of Palmer, but soon the conversation fizzled out and we just sat there looking out the huge window. We were just a few stories up, so we could still see the people on the ground. Most of them were walking in a steady stream in the same direction, and I guessed that they were probably going to the stadium to get seats to watch the chariot rides.

"What do you think our costumes will be?" Sickle asked.

"After meeting Janina, probably something crazy and rainbow. But Decima did say there were some good ones, so hopefully she's talking her into one of those choices right now. I'm just hoping that 'good' doesn't mean boring and generic."

Sickle agreed. "I wish we got to collaborate about our outfits. You know, so that they reflected each tribute, not just the District. But I don't know what I'd want to dress up in, though."

"Me neither."

We stopped talking again, and soon, as the sun started lowering in the sky, Decima burst back in and exclaimed, "Time to get ready! Oh, I think you'll love what Janina picked for you!"

She seemed genuinely excited, so I felt slightly less nervous. We followed her out of the room into our dressing area, where Janina waited with a rack of clothes.

"Decima, could you brush out Sickle's hair, please?" she said as soon as we entered the room, so Decima sat Sickle down and began brushing his soft, dark hair.

"And Terra, you come over here. Your outfit's here."

She pulled one of the hangers off the rack, and a waterfall of blue-black fabric swept across to the floor.

The dress was absolutely beautiful. It was strapless and tightly fitted all the way down to about the knees, where it then fanned out in layers and layers of gauzy black, indigo, and white gossamer studded with crystals. The bottom of the dress was almost entirely encrusted with tiny white gems, and they faded almost entirely out to plain fabric around the upper waist. And then Janina pushed a button concealed on the inner hem of the low-scooped back, and every single one of the crystals lit up and began flickering softly like stars. A huge smile split across her face, the corners almost reaching the bottom of her totally unnecessary sunglasses.

"It looks just like the night sky," I gasped. "It's gorgeous. But… what's it got to do with District Seven?"

Janina giggled and said, "Wait just a moment." She rummaged through the hanger and pulled out a multi-layered translucent silky cape trimmed in white fur, emblazoned with the rows of silhouettes of hundreds of little pine trees. Some were totally opaque, and others were barely visible against the fabric.

"When you put it all on together, you'll see," she promised.

She pulled aside a curtain so that we were blocked off from Sickle and helped me into the dress. It was a tight fit because the upper part was a steel-ribbed corset, but I sucked in my stomach and let her lace up the back. The fabric of the dress pooled around my bare feet, but I was glad that although the amount of fabric weighed a good bit, the heavy-duty corset kept everything up, and I didn't feel like the whole thing was going to come sliding off or anything.

"Oh, you look stunning, dearie!" Janina squeaked. "And now the cape."

She draped it over my shoulders and pinned it together with a round opal pin that looked like the moon. Then she lit it all up.

Looking in the mirror, I saw what she meant about it all coming together. The dark trees over the backlit starry dress looked just like the evergreen forests of District Seven when you looked up the mountain when the moon was out. And the layers of white gossamer and fur trim looked like snow in the winter.

I spun around once. "It's perfect," I said. "I can hardly breathe or move, but it looks just like home at wintertime."

Janina chuckled, although with her high-pitched voice it sounded more like a cackle. "That's why I'm not bothering to put shoes on you, dearie. You can't see your feet anyway, and you certainly wouldn't be able to walk in heels at all without practice, and we don't have time for that, do we?"

I breathed a sigh of relief, although it was a little short-winded because of my decreased lung capacity in the corset.

"Now you go wait outside while I get Sickle ready, okay, dearie?"

I nodded and came out from behind the curtain. Decima looked up and gasped. "Oh, Terra, you look stunning!" she exclaimed.

Sickle smiled widely. "You do! And it's not ridiculous-looking at all!" He seemed a lot more comfortable now that he knew we weren't going to be dressed as rainbow peacocks or anything.

I sat and waited while Sickle dressed behind the curtain. As pretty, albeit restricted, as I felt in my dress, I knew Sickle would look better dressed in night-themed clothes. He had pale white skin and jet-black hair, so he naturally fit the theme. But I was surprised when he emerged from behind the curtain; he wasn't dressed in light-up black clothes, but rather a golden suit of armor with a sun emblazoned on the chest, and a cape that was layered like mine, except with green trees on a bright white background instead of black on gray. But the whole back of his armor lit up as a single screen, fading between shades of red, gold, yellow, and white. Sunrise over the mountains.

Janina looked back and forth between us, that delighted smile still on her face. "Oh, you two, you look even better than I'd imagined! Now, all that's left is the body glitter and Terra's hair and makeup…"

Sickle and I grinned at each other. We were both getting used to Janina's hyperactive personality. Plus, there's just something oddly empowering about being dressed as the night itself, and knowing you look amazing in it.

Janina caked my face with makeup to make my eyes look bigger and my lips darker, but I still looked mostly like myself. Then she tied little strands of white feathers and light-up crystals into my hair, and sprinkled Sickle and me with gold and white body glitter, respectively.

And we were ready for the chariot


	4. Chapter 4: Plasticine

Sickle jumped up into the chariot and held out his hand to me. Climbing up was still rather difficult because of the ribs of my corset, but with his help I managed.

Decima was pacing back and forth, her black heels clicking against the pavement. "Okay. You're going to go out seventh, of course. That means you're right in the middle. Now, this can work either for you or against you, depending on the other tributes' outfits. Since the later districts tend to be fairly dull, I'm not too worried. But you _have_ to captivate the audience. This is the first time the sponsors will see you after your makeovers, and you want to make an impression."

We both nodded, and Janina chirped, "I'm sure you two will be fabulous! You have nothing to worry about!"

The first chariot rolled out. The District One tributes, of course, had amazing outfits; the girl, a golden-haired beauty with shining bronze skin, was dressed in a skirt of pure diamonds, with diamonds glued in patches across her upper body, leaving very little to the imagination. The boy, a terrifying-looking, burly young man with a scar across his face, had a similar outfit, but his skirt was more like a white robe with diamond pinstripes, and he was completely shirtless, showing off his rippling muscles. I was suddenly overcome by fear; I would have to fight him in the Games. I might come face-to-face with him, all alone. I had no doubt that he could kill me in seconds.

District Two had similarly extravagant outfits, and I recognized the boy as the tribute I'd met eyes with when I got off the train. Lucanus, Decima had said his name was. He towered over the female tribute next to him, and the size difference was emphasized by the fact that their costumes were identical. Even the two silvery mares pulling their chariot matched. The tributes' skin and hair were painted gray, and the heavy gray fabric of their clothes didn't even sway in the wind. They literally looked like statues carved from stone, until they raised their hands in unison and waved at the crowd.

My heart ached in empathy when District Three emerged. Neither had a chance of winning, of even surviving long at all, and I was sure that the sponsors would see that too. Their outfits of dazzling, glowing wires couldn't disguise the fact that the female was tiny and probably only twelve or thirteen, and the thin, gangly boy didn't look much older or stronger.

The tributes from Four, the final Career District, made them look even more pitiful. They were dressed in form-fitting, shimmery coats that fanned out like mermaid tails and floated out behind them as if they were underwater.

Five and Six were nothing too impressive or intimidating. But by this point I could hardly even pay attention, my heart was pounding so hard. Decima glanced over us to make sure our lights were working, then said, "Go get 'em. And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor." It was the first time I'd heard Decima use that phrase, which most escorts spewed constantly.

And then we were moving.

Our capes had little ribbons around our wrists to keep them from blowing too far behind us, so the lights fully shone through them. I heard gasps and "oohs" as we rolled down the stone road behind our horses. I noticed for the first time that the one in front of Sickle was a golden mare, and mine was a deep black stallion with a white star on his forehead.

Everything came together perfectly. We weren't as fantastic as the District One, but I think we beat Two and Four, and certainly Three, Five, and Six. It was made all the more impressive because our district usually had boring, awful costumes. I made an effort to swish my hips around to swirl my dress in a glittering display of lights, and the crowd cheered. I couldn't help but smile. Everything was going perfectly; the people loved us, we looked amazing, our lights didn't flicker out halfway through the ride.

Finally we pulled into a stop around the giant podium at the end of the lane, where President Vitus stood overlooking the tributes. It was his first Hunger Games as the new president, so everyone was curious to see how he'd handle it. Unlike almost every president in the history of Panem, Rufus Vitus was not originally from the Capitol. He grew up in District One and became a governor there, and came to the Capitol later with his family. No one was entirely sure how he managed it, because normally people from the Districts weren't allowed to move out of their District, let alone to the Capitol. Most people I'd heard talking about it said there was a lot of money involved.

President Vitus was an intimidating man. He stood tall and straight like a military officer, possibly because he was trained as a Career, although he never participated in the Games. He had short, dark hair and a beard that was barely beginning to be peppered with some gray, and his eyes almost disappeared into pools of shadows cast by his heavy brow.

He stepped up to a microphone, and I realized that the rest of the Districts had completed their chariot rides while I'd been watching him.

"Tributes." His voice boomed out deep and clear. "I welcome you. I am honored to have such a fine, courageous group of young people here for my first Hunger Games. I am sure you will each do your District proud, whether you emerge victorious or not."

I couldn't help but think about how if we didn't emerge victorious, we didn't emerge at all.

He continued, "I would like to both congratulate and thank each and every one of you for the splendid show you put on tonight. Your stylists have outdone themselves again, creating some of the most magnificent costumes I have ever seen in an opening ceremony."

I didn't like him at all. His words sounded hollow as he spoke, and I could tell that he had written and memorized the entirety his speech in advance, because this year's costumes weren't even the most spectacular I'd seen. And something about him just reeked of corruption and filth. Not that most Capitol politicians were upstanding and honest or anything, but Vitus just seemed more awful than the rest. He hid behind a guise of amiability that was fooling no one.

"As I'm sure you all know, your training begins tomorrow. Remember, each of your mentors is a past winner of the Games, so they all know very well what you need to do to win."

He spoke slowly and sounded like he was talking to a group of little kids. Then I realized, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, that some of the tributes _were_ pretty little kids, only twelve or thirteen years old. The boy from Five and the girl from Nine looked especially tiny.

"You have twelve days of training before the Games begin. The way you use this gracious amount of time will determine how well you do in the Games. You must learn not only to fight, but to survive. I'm sure you are all fully capable of mastering all of these skills in the time you are given."

I gulped down my fear. A week and a half to learn how to survive in any fight, any terrain, any weather, any situation. And the Careers had already spent eighteen years learning those skills.

Vitus talked for a little longer about the glory of the Games, why we had them, the greatness of the Capitol, and all the other usual pre-Games crap. Then he concluded with, "Remember, each and every one of you is capable of winning the Hunger Games. So may the odds be ever in your favor."

The crowd erupted into applause and cheers. Their excitement was tangible in the air, as was the fear of the tributes as our chariots rolled off into the chute of the training center.

In the concrete tunnel, our chariot pulled to a stop, where Decima, Janina, and Grover greeted us. Grover picked me up around the waist and lifted me effortlessly to the ground. "You two did great!" he exclaimed.

Decima nodded and Janina said, "You were stunning! Oh, I've never been so proud of a costume, and you two were the perfect people to wear it!"

Sickle wound his arm around my shoulders and said to them, "We really didn't have to do much! Just, you know, not fall out of the chariot or anything."

I agreed. "You guys did all the hard work, planning this and all."

After a little more congratulations and hugs, Decima began herding us off to our floor of the training center. The elevator whipped us up seven stories in a few short moments, and Sickle and I both stared in awe at the room before us.

"This is all ours?" I gasped, walking out slowly into the room.

Decima laughed. "Honey, this is just the dining room. You, Sickle, Grover, and I all have our own bedrooms and bathrooms, and there's also a television room, a kitchen, and a sitting room with a little library."

Sickle began running his fingers over the surface of every furnishing. "This is so weird. Like, for me as a carpenter. I've spent my whole life learning how to make wooden chairs and tables and shelves and pretty much anything else, and here it's all plastic and metal. It just seems so… sterile, I guess. It's not like someone carved this plastic chair with just their two hands, a couple tools, and the help of their father."

The others gave Sickle and me a few minutes to change into some comfortable clothes, then we sat down at the strange angular table in the middle of the room that was already set with food. Consumed with our own thoughts, none of us spoke much during the meal. I really wasn't even that hungry, and my ribs kind of hurt from the tightness of the corset.

After the meal, I returned to my room and sat down cross-legged on my bed. It was huge, big enough for five people to sit side by side. But rather than enjoying the room to spread out, I felt dwarfed by the size of it. It was like I was sitting alone in the middle of a sea of silk and velvet when I was used to a little puddle of burlap and wool on the floor.

I decided to take a shower. I really didn't need one because I'd been scrubbed down so well earlier, but I just wanted something to distract myself.

So I entered the bathroom and wasn't even surprised by its enormous size. The shower took up half the room, enclosed by glass squares. Under the shower head was an array of buttons with different colors and symbols on them. For some reason I became enraged. I was in the most luxurious place I'd even seen in my life, and it was only until I was sent to die in less than two weeks. The Capitol would spare no expense to make the training center the most fantastic building in the city, yet they would offer no money to better the lives of people in the Districts. People that had full lives ahead of them, not a few weeks to go until their violent death.

I looked through the drawers of the vanity counter and became even angrier. There were strands of clip-in hair pieces covered in real gems and diamonds, pots of moisturizing lotions and glittering body creams. I could make myself as beautiful as I could ever want. But what really caught my interest was the drawer with scissors and an electric razor in it. As soon as I saw them, I got an idea and ran with it.

I plugged the razor into the wall and carefully found the "on" button. The blades began to whirr behind their protective covering, and I slowly put it to the side of my head and watched as the long, wavy strands of my silken black hair fell to the tiled floor. I shaved all the hair on the right side of my head, up to my side part, then put the razor down. I was tempted to stop right there. The rational side of me begged me to stop, that I'd done enough, that I'd solidified my rebellious reputation but remained somewhat feminine. But when I was in a rage, I got irrational. So I picked up the scissors and began hacking wildly at my remaining hair, leaving some parts slightly longer and other short. Keeping just enough control to keep me from looking like a madwoman, I evened out the cuts a bit. Then threw the scissors across the room.

"What's going on in there, Terra?" I heard Decima shout through my bedroom door.

"Nothing!" I replied. "Just figuring out the shower."

I brushed the fallen hair off my shoulders, undressed, and hopped into the shower. Ignoring all the fancy buttons, I found the warm water knob and rinsed myself off, standing under the stream of tepid water as the last remaining strand of hair swirled down the drain. I let the water run over me as I sat down on the floor and tried not to cry. Everything was happening so fast. In twelve days, I would be in the Hunger Games, fighting for my life against twenty-three other people. I though back on the Careers and curled up tighter, biting the side of my hand to choke back tears. I'd never been so terrified in my life, and I hadn't even started training yet. Once I'd seen the Careers in training, I probably would just want to throw myself out my bedroom window, seven stories down onto the concrete. I bet it would feel like flying.

After a few minutes I managed to compose myself enough to turn off the shower and dry myself, pulling on a soft white nightgown. With my newly short hair still soaking wet, I crawled into bed and let sleep overtake me


	5. Chapter 5: The Team

Decima woke me early the next morning, pounding on my door and calling in, "Breakfast's ready! Come on, training starts today!"

I grumbled and rolled out of the sheets, tumbling into my dresser as I found my footing. I hadn't slept well at all, so my eyes ached with tiredness as I pulled on the training uniform in my closet. At least those clothes were comfortable.

I jumped a bit when I looked in the mirror; I'd almost forgotten about my haircut, and it was startling to see it dry and clean for the first time. It didn't actually look that bad, honestly. Janina would probably have a heart attack when she saw me, though.

I took a deep breath and exited my room to take my seat at the breakfast table as two red-clothed Avox boys served us.

"Um, Terra. Good morning," Decima said. "Your hair…"

Janina looked up from her plate and shrieked. "Oh my goodness, dearie! What in the world did you do to your head?"

I speared a sausage on my knife and muttered, "I wanted a change of look. You know, something different than what I've had my whole life."

Janina's mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water. "Well, um, you could have just asked me! It's my job, you know, to make you look flawless."

"I think you look pretty badass," Sickle interjected. "I mean, you said the people liked her rebellious attitude. They didn't get that in her chariot ride outfit, so they should really like this, right? You can't get much more rebellious than a pretty teenage girl hacking all her hair off with scissors."

I smiled. "Thank you, Sickle. That was kind of what I was thinking." That was a total lie, of course, because I wasn't really thinking anything last night, just chopping mindlessly at my hair. But maybe it would make Janina less mad at me. Not that she was an intimidating person to have mad at you, but still, she was trying to help me get sponsors to stay alive so I didn't want to be too cruel to her.

A few minutes before the end of breakfast, Janina pulled me aside and said, "Okay, at least you didn't shave off _all_ of your hair. I can still work with this. Wait here." She scurried off into my bathroom and came out with a tube of hair gel. Squirting some into her palm, she fain her fingers through my short locks of hair until the back stuck out in messy spikes.

She stood back and crossed her arms. "Well, it could be worse. At least it's organized chaos now. Besides, I suppose this will be practical for training and the Games."

I nodded. "Yeah, I won't have to worry about tying it back or accidentally catching it on fire or anything. Plus if I put enough gel in it I can head-butt people as a weapon."

I felt like Janina was rolling her eyes, although they were covered by her bug-eye-like sunglasses. "Okay, cut the sarcasm. A little rebel is a good thing, too much will scare people off."

I chuckled and ran off back to Sickle and Decima, who were waiting by the door. Decima showed us the way to the training room, where she left us after saying, "Work hard, and listen to the trainers. They know what they're talking about."

Sickle and I joined the group of tributes waiting in a huddle. The Careers were off to one side, talking in low voices and occasionally throwing nasty glances at other tributes. A girl with long, bouncy white-blond hair turned to me and said, "Hey, you're the District Seven tributes, right? Your outfits for the chariot rides were amazing!"

I glanced over her silky hair, porcelain skin, and doll-like features. She was gorgeous, but she looked fragile, too, despite appearing to be one of the older tributes.

"Yeah," I said curtly. "Thanks. What District are you from?"

"Eight," she replied. Her voice was high, but not as silly as the Capitol accents. "Our costumes were dumb, I thought. No one even cheered."

I felt kind of guilty that I hadn't even noticed what Eight's costumes were. She seemed to realize this and say, "They were just a long velvet dress for me and a velvet suit for Weaver, both with headdresses. Really boring, especially by Capitol standards."

"Oh," I said. I really didn't know how else to reply. This girl seemed to like talking just for the sake of it. So I just added, "I'm Terra Brisbow, by the way. And this is Sickle."

She held out her hand, which I shook. "Amelie Elein. Weaver's over there, trying to talk to the Careers." She rolled her eyes and giggled, as if she were talking about a little brother.

I looked over and saw a small brown-haired boy standing with the Careers, who were looking down at him with sneers on their faces. Except for one. Lucanus. He put his hand on Weaver's shoulder and said something to him, leading him away from the other Careers back to Amelie.

"You lost something," he said, letting go of Weaver.

Amelie smiled brightly. "Thank you. Weaver, you know most of the Careers are jerks. Clearly not all, though." She beamed up at Lucanus.

He smiled back and turned to me. "Well, you looked really different at the chariot rides." But it wasn't an accusation. A grin turned up one corner of his mouth, and he clearly approved of my self-makeover. "I'm Lucanus Evander, but my friends call me Luca."

"Terra," I said, blushing a little under the gaze of his stormy gray eyes, which were just a little bit obscured by a crooked fringe of brown hair. Then I recovered and sneered, "But my friends call me Terra."

His lopsided grin deepened, but before he could reply, a trainer came before the group and shouted, "Attention!"

We all silenced as he flicked his eyes over the group. "Your training begins right now. You have exactly five hours of training every day for twelve days before the Games. Around this room you will find stations that will teach you everything you will need to have a chance at surviving in the Games, wherever they take place. The instructors are highly capable and will make sure you are able to master any skill. Now, with this being said, you must take advantage of the variety of stations offered to you. Do not run right to the climbing wall or archery range because they look like fun. Think about what your greatest weaknesses are, and train to strengthen those. Now, begin."

He stepped aside and the group began to disperse. The Careers ran off to the various weapon stations and began swinging swords and throwing spears, clearly trying to intimidate the rest of us. And I hated to admit it, but it was working.

Sickle went over to the fire-making instructor at the wilderness survival stations and I was tempted to follow, but I already knew how to make fires. So I held back and considered what I was already good at. Hand-to-hand fighting, anything with axes, basic survival skills, a bit of fishing. I finally decided on a station that taught how to identify edible plants and berries from a wide variety of climates. That would certainly be useful; it wouldn't matter how far I could throw an axe if I ate a poisonous berry on the first day of the Games.

I did that station for over an hour until my brain ached and I couldn't take any more memorization or quizzing. I felt like I could name any edible plant on the continent, although I probably would come back in two days and not remember half of them.

I then did some basic strength exercises, climbing nets and shimmying up ropes and swinging across bars, none of which proved too difficult. As I set my foot on the bottom rock of a climbing wall, someone began climbing next to me. I looked over and saw Luca speeding up the wall like a spider.

I pushed off from the ground and scaled the wall as fast as I could. To my surprise, I actually began to catch up with him, but he still reached the top first, where he perched against the training center wall and waited for me. I sat down next to him and looked out over the room. From our high vantage point, I could see all the different stations and the tangle of nets, bars, and other obstacles hanging from the ceiling. We watched in silence as a Career decapitated a dummy with three rapid shots from a bow.

"That's Eoin, from District Four," Luca said. "They may have dressed him as a mermaid for the chariot rides, but he's one to be reckoned with for sure. But Dirk from One is the worst, by far. Clever, strong, _and_ fast, the worst combination for an opponent in the Games. Hell, I'm a Career and I'm scared of him."

"That's really not what I want to hear," I chuckled nervously. "What about the Career girls? Any of them that I should look out for?"

He considered for a moment. "Gaiana, from my District, isn't as physically tough as most Careers, but she's smart as can be and ruthless too. She definitely won't be getting psyched out or scared off by anyone. Ora from One is a dead shot with a bow and arrow, and she's fast, but she's not as clever as some of the others. And Catherine from Four, I don't really know. No one really expected her to volunteer, honestly.

"You know how in Career Districts there are often fights for who gets to volunteer, right? Well, there were a few girls who were favored to win the honor, but Catherine was the only one to get out of the fight without a scratch. They say she just dodged around the edges of the fight and threw the occasional jab when her opponents weren't looking. People hardly noticed her, and she ended up winning. I really don't know what to think of her."

I looked down at the girl who'd worn the mermaid coat at the chariot ride. She was skinny, but she must have been about six feet tall, with a long strawberry blond braid hanging down her narrow back. She hardly looked intimidating, but she must have been stronger than she appeared.

"Why are you telling me all this?" I asked. "Wouldn't keeping it a secret be more of an advantage to you?"

Luca contemplated for a moment before replying. "No one can win the Games on their own, even a Career. You've watched them, you know that. The key to survival is making alliances, and you seem like a damn good person to have on my side."

I wasn't sure what to make of this response. On one hand, I was disappointed that this cute, charming boy was only talking to me for strategic survival purposes, but at the same time, I was flattered that a tough-looking Career picked me out of a crowd as a good potential ally.

"Okay. What are your strengths?"

He laughed. "Well, I've been trained to kill for eighteen years. That's something."

"More specifically," I demanded.

He pursed his lips. "Hm. Well, I can swing a sword hard and throw a spear pretty far and straight. As far as survival stuff goes, I know how to hunt, fish, set traps, identify and disarm other people's traps, track both humans and animals in various terrains, and find the nearest source of water even in a desert climate. Oh, and I also know some herbal cures for burns, infections, insect stings, and whatnot. What about you?"

I blushed all the way to the tips of my ears. The skills I'd felt so confident in earlier suddenly became utterly inadequate. "Well, I can fish too. And I'm a woodcutter, so I'm good with swinging and throwing axes. Uh, and I can fistfight pretty well."

"You're better off than plenty of tributes, especially from the poorer Districts. No offense. Well, we should probably get back to training now."

"Oh, yeah," I gasped. I'd forgotten momentarily what we were supposed to be doing today. We both twisted around to get our feet on the climbing wall rocks, then scaled down slowly. I could tell that Luca was going intentionally slow to keep pace with me.

We went separate ways at the bottom; Luca went to the bow station and I went to the sword one.

One of the instructors tossed me a short blade, which I deftly caught and adjusted my grip.

"You're from Seven, right?" she said. "So you should already know how to use an axe." I nodded. "Good. A sword's not that much different, really."

I spent almost two full hours at that station. I found that she was right, and my experience with axes helped me greatly with swords. I just tried to ignore Dirk training next to me, and I started feeling pretty confident. I only stopped training because my arm eventually felt like it was going to fall off.

I ended the day by rotating between several survival basics. I surprised myself a few times when I arrived at a station where I already knew the techniques being taught. But every time I gained more confidence by performing a task well, I remembered what Luca had said about the various Careers. The ones even he was scared of.

A few times I ran into Sickle, but I tried not to stick too close to him. Somehow it just felt wrong training beside a friend who would soon become my enemy.

Luca, too, kept his distance. I wondered if he was talking to the other tributes the way he'd spoken to me. Easily, gracefully, laughing and smiling at all the right times. Was it just an act that he put on to gain temporary allies for the Games, allies he would eventually have to betray? I hoped not, but the practical side of me thought that was the case. He was, after all, a Career. It was his life's mission to win the Games and bring glory to his District.

Training ended with a late lunch. I heaped my tray high will all the food in my reach and sat at the end of a long table by myself. But soon I was joined by Sickle, Luca, Amelie, and another boy I didn't recognize.

"Hey there," Luca said, plopping down into the chair next to me. "How was training?"

"Fine," I said through a mouthful of garlicky mashed potatoes with thick gravy. I swallowed and continued, "I'm a little sore, though."

Then I reprimanded myself. I didn't know for sure if I could trust these people yet. I shouldn't have told them that a few hours of training weakened me. But then I was comforted a little bit when Luca replied, "Yeah, me too. Those spears get heavy after a while."

I turned to the unfamiliar boy, who looked a few years younger than the rest of us. "And what's your name?" I asked.

"Volt," he said, but it was almost a whisper. He kept his eyes glued on his plate, which held very little food. "District Three."

I remembered the chariot rides, with the two scrawny District Three tributes wrapped in a smothering web of glowing wires. The image was completed when the Three girl, who was even tinier and younger than Volt, tumbled into the seat next to him, her light brown ringlets bouncing as she regained her balance on the chair.

"I'm Elektra!" she said. She seemed considerably more outgoing than the quiet, mousy Volt, despite her diminutive size.

And so out little group finalized itself. We were certainly a bunch of misfits– a Career, a District Eight milliner, a wiring apprentice (whatever that was, Volt did it), a thirteen-year-old computer chip maker (clever little Elektra), a gay carpenter, and me. We talked all throughout lunch, about everything but the Games. And if we mentioned our homes, it was only the places. Never any mention of our friends or families left behind.

We headed towards the elevator to go back to our floors, and Luca said, "We should all meet up on the roof tonight. You guys up for that?"

The offer struck me off guard. It was like some of my school friends back home inviting me to go fishing or something. Just a casual, friendly offer.

"Yeah, I'll go," I said. "Sickle?"

He looked a little suspicious, but he still agreed to the offer, as did all the others.

As we headed down the hall, I realized we'd taken a wrong turn somewhere, and we weren't going towards the elevators.

"Shit. We're lost," Luca said after a moment.

"I noticed," I said. Then as we turned to go back down the hall and retrace our steps, we heard two voices from behind a door that sat ajar.

"Are you sure about this, sir?" the first voice said. It sounded like it belonged to a young male.

The other voice crackled through a speaker, yet I still recognized it. The president. "Yes, Marcus. I am quite sure. Do you wish to question my judgment again?"

That must mean the other man was Head Gamemaker Marcus Hart. We all paused and held our breath to remain totally silent, aware that we could probably be killed for eavesdropping yet unable to tear ourselves away.

"No, sir, I would never question your judgment. I would just like it if you would, sir, consider my advice. I have, after all, had several _very_ successful Games the past few years. And I believe that, while I understand your reasoning, well, I believe that the Games would be considerably more entertaining and well-received if we do not proceed with your, I mean, with the current plan. Sir." Hart sounded like he realized he'd said something terribly wrong, which he probably had. After all, he'd just criticized President Vitus to his face.

Vitus's voice dripped cold through the speaker. "You aren't understanding me, Marcus. I don't care if the freaks here are entertained or not. I want a District One win. I don't care if it's the boy or the girl, but one of them must win. This is my first Hunger Games as a new leader, and I am the first president in the history of Panem to come from anywhere other than the Capitol. So you would do well to make the Games reflect well on my District." The speaker turned to static then switched off.

The six of us froze. If Hart came out of his office now, we were dead. But we all breathed a silent sight of relief when his speaker clicked back on and he said, "So I just got off the phone with President Vitus..."

We padded off down the hall as quietly as we could. None of us looked at one another, and certainly nobody said a word.

When we finally found the right elevator, we each smashed the button for our floor. Right before Volt and Elektra exited on the third floor, Luca said, "We're still meeting on the roof, right? Let's say seven o'clock?"

A listener would think it was just a casual remark, but we knew it meant something more. _We need to talk about what we heard_, his clipped words and stiff jaw said.

Luca got out on the next floor, and Sickle and I left Amelie on floor seven.

"What're we going to do?" Sickle said as soon as the doors closed behind us. He kept his voice down, wary of any cameras that might be in the room.

"We're going to meet Luca and everyone on the roof," I replied. "And we're going to find a way to stop the president and the gamemakers."


	6. Chapter 6: Spies

At seven o'clock sharp, Sickle and I emerged onto the rooftop of the training center. Luca was already there, but he was alone, perching on the edge of the railing with his back to us.

I sat down next to him, with Sickle next to me. We silently stared down at the bustling city below, fully of light and life and sound that carried up to us from well over a hundred feet below.

"What they're doing is wrong," Sickle said, tossing a candy wrapper off the roof and watching the force field below bounce it back. "They can't rig the games like that."

"Well, they _can_. But only if we let them get away with it. The people of the Capitol may not be the noblest people in the world, but they won't tolerate such blatant cheating, especially not when it interferes with the Games," Luca said. Running a hand through his thick brown hair, he stared down at the city street as if he were trying to distinguish faces on the pinhead-sized people below.

"I wish we knew how to stop them," Sickle said.

"Stop them from doing what, though? Apparently they want a District One win, but how? What're they going to do to ensure that? We don't know enough yet to jump into action. We need a plan, and most of all we need more information."

I stared into Luca's face as he spoke. I don't think he noticed, and if he did, he didn't seem to mind. It was hard to believe that he was barely a year older than me, and the same age as Sickle. His face was much more chiseled-looking, his jaw stronger and nose straighter. A bit of stubble showed on his chin, left unchecked by his stylists, probably for just that reason: to make him look older and tougher. But even his eyes shone with a maturity that I had yet to grasp. He was calculating, logical, cunning, whereas I just wanted to jump into the action and be the hero. I wondered if the Career Districts ever lied about the age of their tributes to have a better chance of winning.

Soon the others joined us and we had to dismount the railing to gather in a tight circle.

"So do you guys have a plan yet?" Amelie asked.

"Sort of," Luca said, which was news to me. "It's not much right now. Basically, we need to gather as much information as we can first, then we can devise a way to incriminate the Gamemakers. Volt, Elektra."

The pair jumped at hearing Luca say their names. "Yeah?" Elektra asked with wide eyes. I could already see a schoolgirl crush forming in her innocent eyes. I hoped that's not what I looked like when I spoke with him.

"You two are from District Three. You know wires and plugs and switches and all, right?" He made hand motions vaguely like he was plugging two wires together as he spoke. I noticed that he seemed to do that a lot, using his hands to emphasize what he was saying.

"Yeah. I'm a wiring apprentice, and Elektra works in a factory making computer chips," Volt said. It was the most I'd ever heard him say at once. He had a bit of a stutter, making "and" sound more like "a-a-a-and."

Luca's hands tightened into eager fists, the veins in his strong forearms standing out under a layer of dark hair, as he said, "Awesome. So you both know how the work electrical equipment?"

Volt nodded and Elektra asked, "What're you planning?"

Luca drew his hands into a steeple under his chin and said, "The Capitol watches us all the time. I say it's time we watch back."

Amelie spoke up for the first time. "What, you want us to hook up surveillance equipment? And watch the Gamemakers with it?" She sounded positively incredulous.

"Well. Yes," Luca said. "I suppose there's no putting it mildly."

Sickle said exactly what was on my mind before I could form the words. "How do we know we can trust you? You're a Career, you're practically one of them. And if we get caught, we're all dead."

But as he spoke, I changed my mind, so I said, "If we don't do anything about it, we're all dead anyway."

Luca smiled at me. "Thank you. Yes. That's the point. If we just let the Gamemakers do whatever it is they're planning, none of us will survive. If we stop them, at least one of us will have a chance of coming out of this alive."

Amelie crossed her arms and furrowed her fair brow. "I don't like this at all. I mean, we're risking our lives to keep ourselves alive so that we can kill each other later, aren't we? Isn't that all this is?"

Hm, maybe she wasn't as air-headed as I'd initially assumed.

Luca's face drooped for a moment, but he replied, "I suppose so."

So that was it. We were teaming up so that we'd have a chance to live long enough to kill one another in the Games.

I also realized why Luca was probably so eager about the plan. If we succeeded and were given a fair playing field, he could win. He could easily defeat any of us, and only a few of the Careers would give him any difficulty. Without any rigging, he was a favorite to win. This wasn't about us all having a fair chance. It was about him having a chance to win, because none of us did.

Strangely enough, I still wanted to go through with the plans. In the back of my mind, a voice said _don't give up_. There was always a chance that something would happen in the arena, some fluke that would allow me to win. I could come out alive, go home to my family. Explain to Palmer that I'd befriended his boyfriend only to betray him and let him die.

I shook those thoughts out of my mind. I needed to focus on the present as much as I could, not worry about possible futures.

"Luca's right that we need more information," I said. "We can't jump right into this blindly. We have eleven more days until the Games begin. So, how are we going to go about doing this?"

Luca, predictably, was the first one with an idea. "Well, after the third, sixth, and ninth days of training, we get some time to go into the city, to mingle with the common people or something. It's supposed to be sort of a show of graciousness, like that Capitol is being nice for hosting us. We get a bunch of free money to spend on whatever we want, which is generally useless because we're just going to our death anyway. But we could use it to buy things to use as surveillance! What do you guys think?"

"They'll catch us," Volt said. Surprised that he had spoken up, we all turned to look at him. "If we just go out and buy a bunch of cameras and microphones and stuff, they'll get suspicious. And if they get suspicious, there's no way they'll let their guard down enough to give us a chance to rig their systems."

He was right. Sickle, on the other hand, didn't seem to agree. "I think Luca's right. We have to catch them somehow!"

"I know! But there are other ways. We can still buy supplies, but not actual microphones or anything. If we get other things, like music chips and radios and stuff, Elektra and I can make our own surveillance equipment. Plus, if we make it ourselves, it's less likely that it'll be detected by Capitol security because it won't be built to standard code." Volt's voice had an air of desperation in his voice, as if he didn't think we would ever listen to his advice.

"That's genius," Luca said. "You're exactly right. If we just slap a recorder on the wire, they'll probably have things in place to detect it. If we make something totally new, they most likely won't."

Volt nodded, his face lighting up at the encouragement.

With our plans solidified, we moved into the rooftop garden and sat down on the stone rim of a fountain. I dangled my fingers into the cool water and looked at my reflection in the blackness. Even with my hair gone, I didn't look that much different in monochrome. Same almond eyes, same plump small mouth, same wide features and small nose.

Water splashed onto me and broke apart my reflection, and I looked up with water dripping from my lashes to see Sickle grinning devilishly.

"Idiot!" I laughed, splashing back at him but missing and hitting Luca. And within moments, a full-fledged water fight had broken out. Amelie shrieked a bit as the first cold water splashed onto her crisp navy dress, but then she started laughing and joining in. We stood in the waist-deep water and pushed each other around, throwing around water with swinging hands and feet. At one point, Luca picked me up and dipped me headfirst into the water, cackling until I dragged him down after me.

The whole game lasted only a couple moments, and by the end we were all soaking and freezing, but we still were considerably happier than we had been before. We started to feel more like friends and less like soon-to-be gladiators.

We sprawled out on our backs on the concrete floor and watched the stars. Luca lay next to me, and I caught myself occasionally glancing in his direction, distracted by his soaked lavender t-shirt clinging to his well-formed torso. A couple times, I think he caught me looking, but he just gave me a small smile. He was probably pretty used to being checked out by random girls. I was just glad that I'd chosen to wear a black shirt and dark pants.

"Tomorrow's my birthday," Amelie said to no one in particular, twisting a blond ringlet around her finger. "I'm going to be eighteen."

"Well, happy birthday!" I replied, trying to restrain myself from any cynical comments about how impossible that wish was.

Amelie chuckled. "Thanks. But I think our present situation already kind of assured that that won't happen."

We all lay in silence for some amount of time; I lost track of the minutes as they crawled by under the dark sky. There were fewer stars here than at home. Well, I knew that the same stars were actually up there, but they were blocked out by the hungry light of the city.

"We should probably head back to our rooms now," Sickle said after a while. "We don't want to worry our teams."

I stood up and brushed dirt off my soaked clothes. I hadn't realized just how freezing it was down on the ground. Shivering, I followed the others into the elevator and descended to our floor.

As soon as we got into our suite, Sickle and I parted and went into our respective bedrooms. I removed my cold, stiff clothes and donned a warm set of fleecy pajamas, crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over me.

The next morning I woke early and ate a big breakfast. Despite the horrific reason for our training, I found that I enjoyed the structured schedule of it. Get up, eat, go to training, eat again, relax, eat some more, have some free time, sleep. It was considerably more leisurely than my routine back home, and I especially like the regularity of the food.

"Where we you guys last night?" Decima asked. I noticed that the streaks in her hair had changed from cyan to violet; I wondered if it was a reference to my eye color.

"On the roof," I said. "We hung out with some of the other tributes. Got into a water fight."

Grover scowled and said, "That's not good. I know I told you to make alliances, but not friends. That'll just make things harder when you get to the arena."

"It was nothing. We aren't friends. We were just discussing strategy and stuff and got bored," I said, trying to keep a tone of defensiveness out of my voice. I hoped that I hadn't said too much.

"Be careful not too give away too much of your strategy," Grover said, as if he'd read my mind. "And don't get in any trouble, okay? The Capitol probably doesn't look kindly on a bunch of tributes gathering and talking about the Games outside of training."

I nodded and continued eating my eggs and sausage. Sickle emerged from his room a few minutes later, his messy black curls still un-brushed. Plopping down in the chair next to me, he said, "So, think we should do anything for Amelie's birthday? We could sneak some little cakes into training or something."

Grover raised his eyebrows. "I thought you said you weren't making friends."

"What?" Sickle saw my expression and added, "Oh, she's not our friend. We're just trying to be frien– I mean, nice. We're trying to be nice. We need allies, after all."

Grover dug his fork into his meal. "Allies don't bring each other little cakes. They coordinate training, discuss strengths and weaknesses, make plans, formulate tactics. Have you done any of those things yet?"

Sickle dropped his eye contact, but I replied, "Yes, I have! With a _Career_. Luca Evander from District Three."

"That Lucanus boy? You have a nickname for him now? This is what I mean. You become friends, and you get attached. That just makes it harder when you have to turn on each other in the end. Because whether you like it or not, that will happen. There can only be one victor."

I looked at Sickle, but he was still focused on his breakfast. I think he was mad at Grover. But then he looked up and said, "Why are you so freaking cold about all of this?"

Grover crossed his arms. "You guys are old enough to have seen my victory year. Do you remember it at all?"

I concentrated, trying to distinguish the 32nd Games from all the other ones I'd seen when I was young. They all kind of blurred together. "It was the one on the plains, wasn't it?"

He nodded.

Now I remembered. I'd been seven years old. There were moments in that year when my mom wouldn't even let me watch, it was so brutal. There was almost no cover in the rolling hills, other than small riverbanks and the occasional cluster of trees. I wondered if Grover had committed any of that brutality. Probably, looking at his massive size and harsh demeanor.

Sickle, who'd been only a year older, said, "I remember that one too." He tightened his grip on his knife. "That was the year when the last two people were a little twelve-year-old boy and some massive hulking teenager. I didn't realize that guy was you. You cornered him in a riverbank and snapped his neck like it was nothing. Like it wasn't a child's life."

Grover seemed unmoved by Sickle's speech. "I know it sounds terrible now, but you'll understand soon enough. When you're out there, you aren't against other kids. You're fighting people who want to take your life. End of the story."

"I'll never become that," I swore. "I'll fight with my life, but I won't give up my humanity."

Sickle shook his head slowly. "Me neither."

"That's easy to say now," Grover said. He didn't seem upset by our accusations, our blatant guilt-trip.

"That's really enough chatter for now," Decima said finally. She hadn't spoken at all throughout the conversation, but she seemed on her last nerve now. "It's time to get to training."

Sickle and I were glad to be free from that conversation. It wasn't that we hated Grover or anything. He just had been made so cold by his time in the arena. It was amazing he wasn't an alcoholic or morphling addict like so many other victors. He seemed to have coped by shutting out all emotion, turning himself almost robotic as a defense mechanism. He was everything I didn't want the Games to do to me.

There was no opening speech for training today. Instead we jumped right into things, trying to pick stations that weren't already occupied by Careers.

I redid some of my earlier stations, finding that I was better at them now after just one day. And as the next two days passed, I further honed my skills. I began to feel like I actually had a shot at this. That is, if we could expose the Capitol's plot and stop their plans.

As the third day of training came to a close, our team of six gathered at our usual table in the cafeteria and began making plans for that evening. It would be our first of three excursions into the Capitol, and our first chance to gather supplies. We had to watch what we said in case anyone was listening in, but we still managed to pick a meeting spot to divide up the purchases and decide what we each should buy to arouse the least amount of suspicion.

After that, all that was left was to sit in our rooms and wait for the evening, when Decima would lead us out to the shopping district of the Capitol and release us until nine o'clock.


	7. Chapter 7: Supply Run

Sickle and I watched the TV report about the preparations for the tributes' first excursion and were amazed by the sheer mass of people who were coming to the shopping district to see us. I felt like some sort of celebrity. But their reaction to us only made our future worse. They would come and stand in massive crowds just to catch a glimpse of us, and yet they wouldn't do anything to stop of from being sent to our deaths? It seemed so wrong. Although to me, almost everything in the Capitol seemed wrong.

Janina came in a few minutes before our departure to make sure we looked perfect for the cameras that would inevitably follow us around. She did that spiky gel style to my hair again and straightened Sickle's striped tie. "You two behave out there, okay? Everyone will be watching."

We both promised, and Decima came in and led us out to where a car would pick us up. She and Janina tried to fend off the crowd of Capitol fans while we pushed through to our car. My black leather leggings and black ankle boots with spikes on the back may have looked great, but they did not help me move easily. Bright camera flashes disoriented me, and I stumbled several times as my legs got used to my high heels.

But we managed to get to our car and pile in, and the door immediately slammed behind us as the car took off. Luckily the people had enough sense to get out of the way of the moving vehicle; I hadn't been sure they would.

Safely inside the car, Sickle and I had a chance to relax. I realized it was the first time we had been anywhere in the Capitol besides the training room without Decima. I felt inexplicably nervous on top of my excitement. I couldn't tell if the nerves were from being away from Decima or from the danger of what we were about to try and pull off with so many cameras on us. Probably the latter, I decided.

The car moved quickly through the winding streets and we soon arrived at our destination. Several other identical cars were in the same lot, but we were rushed out too fast for me to count if there were all twelve yet.

The corner of the block one street down from the parking lot, to the left. That was our meeting point. Sickle grabbed my hand and led me in that direction, ignoring the cameras being shoved in our faces. In an effort to impress Decima and Grover, and to help make Janina forgive me, I put on my best smile and waved at every camera I could see. Sickle realized what I was doing and switched his demeanor, instantly becoming friendly and beaming.

Luckily most of the crowd was congregated right outside the parking lot, so after about half a block it thinned out considerably. Apparently the people didn't care about us in particular. They just wanted a few good shots of each tribute.

A little, vain part of me was disappointed, but for the most part I was glad to be rid of them. It would make our job much easier.

Amelie, Elektra, and Volt waited for us on the corner. Amelie looked stunning in an intricately lacy white and pink dress and makeup that made her look like a doll. Sadly, Elektra and Volt just looked like teenagers trying to look older and more mature than they were. I had to constantly remind myself that Volt, as gangly and awkward as he was, was only a year younger than me.

It was mere moments before Luca arrived, dressed casually in a collared shirt and black pants. He had probably taken the least time getting ready of all of us, and he looked the best. It wasn't that he was necessarily more attractive than Sickle, but he wore the clothes and presented himself as if he did this every day. I realized that this might be part of being a Career. Not only physical training, but also learning how to be presentable to sponsors.

Without even a hello, he said, "We need to play to their stereotypes. They'll have already assumed certain things about us based on how we've dressed and acted before tonight. So if we want to avoid suspicion, we need to follow their judgments."

Amelie nodded. "You're right. They'll think I'm a really vain girly-girl because of the way my stylist has been dressing me. So how about I try to get ahold of a camera or two? Since it sort of goes hand-in-hand with fashion and modeling and all."

"That's good. What about the rest of you?"

"Well, I'm one of the youngest tributes, so I can go for some mechanical toys or something," Elektra suggested, and Luca agreed.

It was decided that Volt would try to get miscellaneous wires and connectors because everyone knew that he enjoyed toying around with them. I was to get some music chips, Sickle was assigned movie discs, and Luca decided upon getting a microphone recorder. When Amelie suggested that this might cause unwanted attention, he explained that on tedious days in the mines and workshops in Two, they often sang songs, so it wouldn't seem odd that he wanted something to sing into.

With all our assignments in place, we split up. We had specifically decided not to all buy our required items first, so I picked a random clothes shop and ducked in. The racks were a rainbow of garish neon colors and patterns, so I turned on my heel and left.

The next time, I looked a little closer at the window displays before deciding on a shop. This one was a little more tame, although most of the stuff was still absurd by non-Capitol standards. I dug through racks and piles of clothes until I found an armful of things I might wear. Going into the fitting room, I examined myself in the mirrors on all four walls. A few of the garments I couldn't even figure out how to get on, so I discarded them into a pile on the floor first. Then I proceeded to model the rest of them for myself. I couldn't help but think that this might actually have been a lot of fun in some of my friends from District Seven had been here with me. I could practically hear the laughter as I tried on a ridiculous, frilly blouse, or the fake wolf whistles at a tightly fitted dress.

I tried to banish these thoughts as I checked out at the register. The purple-haired man behind the counter spoke to me with an almost reverential tone to his voice. I couldn't tell if he had some great amount of respect for me, or if he just was excited to see someone he recognized from TV. Probably the latter, I decided.

Next I went to a jewelry store, where I bought some carved silver bangles and a ring with an opal crescent moon inlaid on it that reminded me of my chariot costume.

I finally decided that I could go to a music shop now without it seeming suspicious. After all, I was a girl, so the Capitol expected me to act a certain way, even with a rebellious reputation. So now that I had the clothes shopping out of the way, I could actually get down to business.

I picked a store with giant neon light-up music notes on the front. It was a huge building, so I hoped it would have a good variety of music chips.

Upon entering, I saw a sign hanging from the ceiling that told me that the music chips were on the second floor. So I located the stairs and made a beeline for them. On the way there, I was surprised to run into Catherine, the tall, skinny girl from Four. She was almost a foot taller than me naturally, and her heels were even higher than mine, so when I walked past, she towered over me like a giant. And it didn't help that she gave me a condescending, haughty glare down the bridge of her nose.

I was rebellious, right? I didn't have to take that kind of treatment.

"The hell's your problem?" I sneered as I passed by, glaring without raising my face to look directly at her.

"_My_ problem? Excuse me, but I was here first." She crossed her bony arms, which I could probably have snapped with one hand.

"There's room enough for two in here, honey. No need to give me that bitchy look. Or is that just how your face always is?" I was enjoying this way more than I should have. I don't know if it was just my spiky leather getup talking, or if I was releasing my pent-up annoyance on her. It wasn't like she'd physically done anything against me, after all.

She scrunched up her face as if she smelled something awful. "Those're big words for a girl who looks like she ran face-first into a wall."

"At least I actually have lips." This verbal sparring was almost as satisfying as landing a good punch, and it was far less dangerous.

"You won't be so cocky when we get to the Games, _honey_. Not when I have a dagger flying at your neck."

That crossed the line. I stepped right up under her aquiline nose and snarled, "We'll see about that. I can dodge a throwing dagger. Not so much an axe chop to the throat, eh?"

She tossed her strawberry blond hair over her shoulder. "Never forget that you're just an overconfident kid from Seven. Even your little loverboy Lucanus won't miss you when you're gone. And I bet you won't last two days."

I wanted to scream at her and tear her hair, but I managed to repress my fury and walk away. I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my head as I strode away confidently.

The moving stairs, which I remembered Decima calling escalators at one point, lifted me up to the second floor. Now, what kind of music should I buy? Common District Seven music was really acoustic and folksy-sounding, so I wasn't sure they would have anything like that here. I browsed through the aisles, trying to find anything that looked appealing. Finally I found some pictures featuring guitars, fiddles, and other instruments I recognized, so I picked out seven of these and went to the register. Luckily, Catherine was gone by the time I got there.

Our time out was coming to an end, so I headed back towards our meeting place. I was the first person there, so I sat on the pavement and waited. Soon Amelie arrived and sat next to me, her arms laden with bags. I noticed a large one that had a logo of a camera.

"Have fun? Get a lot of shopping done?" I asked vaguely, hyperaware of all the cameras trained on us.

"Obviously," Amelie giggled, gesturing to the bags surrounding her.

We indulged the audience in a few minutes of saccharine girlishness before Sickle arrived carrying even fewer bags than I had.

"Well, that was a productive evening," he said.

Soon we were all gathered together, and we made plans to meet on the roof again after tomorrow's training. But tonight, we had to get back to our rooms and sleep.

Training was more of the same again the following day. A few minutes at this station, an hour at that one. A routine that was slowly building up my stamina, agility, and survival skills. Too bad I still had nothing on the Careers.

For a few minutes, I kept away from the stations and watched Luca train. He and Dirk both were at the sword station, fighting trainers of similar size. I wasn't skilled enough myself to tell who was better between the two of them. They had distinctly different fighting styles. Dirk utilized his massive size by bearing down on his opponent, tiring him, blocking his blows with a one-handed grip. Luca, on the other hand, was slightly smaller but much quicker and more agile. He couldn't block as strongly as Dirk, but he rarely had to; the blade almost never came close to him.

I joined Volt at the archery station. He'd spent a lot of time there the past few days.

"Are you good with a bow?" I asked as I stepped up next to him at the range.

He shrugged. "Not great. But it's better for me than most of the other weapons. I mean, I don't have enough strength to be good with a sword or axe or anything. This one's easier in that sense. Plus I'm used to being really accurate because of my machine-making training."

I hadn't thought about it like that before. The trainers every day said that we should spend more time on stations that we need improvement at yet had potential. I had assumed that for me, this meant just axes and basic wilderness survival other things I was used to. But Volt had analyzed what he was good at and picked something completely unrelated that required similar skills. Even if he was physically weak, he could make a strong tribute in the area solely because of his mental prowess.

I shook my head and concentrated on drawing an arrow from my quiver. I didn't want to think of Volt as a future opponent. So I focused on the six-ringed blue and red target and let an arrow fly.

It hit the fourth ring from the center. Not a great shot, but I hadn't really expected to hit the target at all. Next to me, Volt let out a slow and steady stream of arrows that consistently hit the middle three rings, almost without fail.

A few minutes later, Ora from District One joined us a the archery range. I was convinced that she just wanted to intimidate us, because Luca had told me that archery was one of her strong points.

Sure enough, she shot at a considerably faster pace than Volt and with almost perfect accuracy. Several times she had to go out to the target to remove arrows because the center bull's-eye had become so full.

Disheartened, I decided that I probably didn't have the patience to be a good archer anyway. So I moved to the axe station to relieve some of my frustration.

The rest of training and lunch flew by. The days were all starting to meld together in their regimented sameness. In the blink of an eye I found myself waiting on the couch with Sickle until our designated rooftop meeting time. He held the unmarked canvas bag containing our contraband devices. Luckily for us, if anyone stopped us and demanded to see what we were carrying, we could just claim that we were meeting with some friends to watch movies and listen to music. That would sound like a perfectly normal thing for teenagers to do, right? Teenagers who weren't training to kill each other in a gladiatorial arena anytime soon, at least.


	8. Chapter 8: Break-in

While we waited, I stood up and wandered around, eventually getting myself a cup of hot tea from the delivery slots in the wall. We had certain kinds of homemade herbal teas in Seven, but nothing like the richly flavored varieties of the Capitol.

As I was adding a bit of cream to the tea, Sickle called to me from the television room. "Terra! Get in there quick!"

There was an intense urgency in his voice. I left my cup on the table and ran in to see what was going on. The TV displayed a video of President Vitus standing at a podium, looking as grim and awful as ever.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Panem, I have an announcement to make regarding the proceedings of the Hunger Games. Starting today, and for each and every Games from here on out, there will be no more excursions into the Capitol for the tributes. We believe that such events only serve to distract the tributes from their training, and we want them to be as well-prepared as possible for the Games. Citizens of the Capitol, we apologize for the discontinuation of this celebrated event. And tributes, please understand that this decision is made in your best interest. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

The video cut to a feed of the main announcer for the Games, Theo Thrice.

"Well, that surely is an unexpected development!" Thrice exclaimed with a sort of forced shock that made it obvious that he knew about this in advance. He had an unnerving way of speaking where his mouth seemed lock in a permanent grin, like a bare skull with no lips to cover its decaying teeth. I couldn't tell if that was just how his face worked, or if it was because of a cosmetic surgery gone wrong. Or maybe he just thought it looked good. I mean, anyone with hair dyed bright, glittering orange and numerous rings through most of his facial features probably had a pretty distorted sense of aesthetics.

Thrice continued talking, but Sickle and I tuned him out.

"Do you think it's because of us?" I asked. But I didn't really need to say it. Of course it was.

He nodded. "Obviously. We've got to be very, very careful from here on out. We're walking on a tightrope, and the Capitol's holding scissors to it, just waiting for a misstep."

We decided to still go to the roof, just to see if anyone else was there.

On the elevator, we ran into was Amelie when the we stopped on the eighth floor. She carried a bulging purse, and a camera with a long lens hung from a strap around her neck. Her black and white striped stockings and tall boots were a stark contrast to her usual pastel frills. Apparently this miniature rebellion was rubbing off on her fashion sense. I couldn't help but smile a bit at this change. We pointedly avoiding saying anything about the recent announcement.

On the roof, Volt was already tinkering with a pile of wires. He, Luca, and Elektra looked up when we arrived.

"About time!" Luca called. "Volt's already got a plan for a… a thing that can tap the Capitol's communication wires. He's just got to make sure that we have enough supplies."

Amelie sat down gracefully and hissed, "Not so loud! Didn't you hear the announcement they made? They're onto us."

Luca pursed his lips, running his fingers through his hair as he always did when he was nervous or agitated. "I know. If we screw this up we're all dead meat. And maybe not just us, but all the tributes."

"We've got to go forward with the plan. Besides, all but one of us is already dead meat." I knew this observation wouldn't be comforting, but comfort wasn't what we needed now. Drive, determination, and a bit of blind rage were the only things that could save us.

Of course, one look at Volt's plan, sketched on a lined notebook, proved me wrong. We would also need an incredible amount of ingenuity and cleverness, two traits which I sorely lacked. Luckily Volt and Elektra had enough to go around, which, combined with Luca's Capitol knowledge from living in Two and Amelie's natural flair for winning over the media, could be enough to save us.

I suddenly felt useless. Everyone else had a role. Amelie and Sickle were the pretty faces that the beauty-obsessed people of the Capitol wouldn't dare to suspect or criticize. Volt and Elektra were the brains that would be able to put our plans in action. And Luca, of course, was all of the above. I, on the other hand, was nothing, was I? Just a spare wheel watching as a thirteen-year-old girl picked apart Amelie's camera and began combing it with Sickle's movie chips to create a rudimentary but tiny and easily concealable video camera. Beside her, Volt worked with my music chips and Luca's sound equipment to create two sound recorders, one for the camera device and one to record phone calls.

Sickle, Amelie, Luca, and I started trying to figure out how to get these on the Capitol's wires. Luca explained that the phrases he'd been using, like "wires" and "wire-tapping" were actually really out of date, and most Capitol communication had been wireless even since the Dark Days. So we needed to locate the receptors and attach our recorders. But of course it wouldn't be as easy as just sticking it into a slot on the back; even the most dim-witted Capitol worker would notice that. Volt and Elektra had to physically get to the inside of the mechanism, where they would internally install our devices and then reconstruct the machine so no one could tell the difference from the outside. How we would find a safe time or place to do this, I had no idea.

But for now, we lay on the roof and tried to find constellations through the far-reaching glow of the Capitol's lights.

When we got back to our room at about midnight, Decima, Janina, and Grover were waiting for us at the dining table.

"Where the hell have you been?" Decima snapped the second we walked in the door.

"Hanging out with some people. Making allies," Sickle said. I noticed that he avoided calling our friends "tributes."

"That announcement that Vitus made earlier this evening. Why do I get the feeling that you guys and your 'allies' had something to do with it?" Grover demanded. It was possibly the most furious I'd ever seen him.

"I don't know what you're talking about. You told us that allies were a good thing, remember?" I said as innocently as I could. Grover wasn't buying it.

"I don't believe you two for a second, kid. What're you up to?"

Sickle and I looked at each other for a brief moment. It lasted mere seconds, but we communicated all the questions running through our minds. Mainly, did these three have more loyalty towards us or the Capitol? Even if Grover didn't strictly like us, surely wouldn't betray us, having been through the Games and experienced the Capitol's horridness firsthand. Decima seemed to genuinely like us and want to protect us, but she still might feel obligated to tell on us. And Janina was a wild card- we had no idea where her loyalties lay, if she even had any.

But there was no getting out of this, so I told them everything in hushed voices, while Sickle brewed coffee as loudly as he could on the nearby machine, hoping to drown out our whispers in case of any cameras.

My audience fell into a short, stunned silence, broken by a confused-looking Janina squeaking, "Oh, there must be some horrible mistake! The Gamemakers would never do anything like that."

Grover seemed more convinced. "Trust me, with the horrors they subject these kids to in the area, there's not a thing they wouldn't do. I just don't know if it's worth trying to reveal their plot."

I was outraged. "Of course it's worth it! We're guaranteed to die in the arena if we don't! At least this way we have a chance."

Grover rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. "Kid, that's not how it works. You really think that if you unveil their plans in some public way, it'll make them say, 'oh, gee, that was really mean and we're sorry'? No. It'll just make your time in the Games even more of a living hell that it would normally be."

I hadn't thought about that before.

He continued, "The thing is, Dirk doesn't really need some fancy Capitol plot to make him win. They're probably just planning on giving him a little extra food or medicine here and there, not some elaborate scheme to pick off all the other tributes or anything. He can do that on his own. In fact, even if the Capitol wasn't planning anything, he would almost certainly be the victor anyway."

I couldn't handle that much truth in so little a timespan. Not even Grover believed in us. Our own mentor was convinced he was sending us to our deaths, rigged Games or not.

"I'm on your side."

I had almost forgotten about Decima in my mounting rage at Grover. I looked up when she spoke, surprised to hear her voice. "You are?" I gasped once her words registered in my mind.

"Of course. I've stood by and watched too much Capitol corruption. And as your escort, it's my job to keep you safe until the Games. I can't just let this go by," she said. I could hear the sincerity in her voice as her brows knitted in thought. She clearly was mulling over the pros and cons of helping us, although there was no going back now.

Finally Janina decided, "I'll do what I can to help too. I know a stylist probably won't be much help with a secret spy mission, but I'll do my best."

"Thank you," I said, and I meant it with every fiber of my body.

We weren't alone. Even if Grover didn't want to help us, we had Janina and Decima.

"Get some sleep," Grover said, sounding defeated. "We can talk more about this tomorrow."

I decided not to tell him that we already had plans to scope out the possible surveillance locations tomorrow after training. So I quietly went to bed and fell asleep as soon as I tumbled down onto the sheets.

Training was more physical conditioning, more survival skills, more weapons handling, and of course more Career intimidation. And lunch was a drab occasion, as many of the tributes were becoming exhausted by the physical and psychological demands of training. Luca was the only one among our team who didn't seem so under the weather.

"You guys ready?" he asked once we all finished eating. We nodded silently , not wanting to say anything that could give us away.

We followed him through the mazelike halls of the training center to Gamemaker Hart's room. Peering through the pane of glass on the door, we saw that he was not in the room. But a quick twist of the doorknob showed that the room was locked.

"Step aside," Luca said, pulling a couple of hairpins out of his pocket. "I snagged these from Gaiana's room just in case."

After fiddling around with the lock for a few moments, Luca stepped back as the door clicked and swung a few inches in. "I guess they assumed the tributes wouldn't even dare to try something like this," he said.

I nodded and understood why. I had never been more terrified, not even when my name was drawn from the glass bowl at the reaping. The fear of potential consequences should have been enough to keep away any curious tributes. But for us, the consequences of not doing this would be just as bad, if not worse, than risking getting caught.

Once inside the room, Volt and Elektra immediately went looking for the receiver box to implant the listening device. They quickly located it, and Elektra went to work dismantling it while Volt tried to find a place to put the camera.

"How about under that ledge?" Luca suggested. "There's a bit of an overhang and it's the same color as the camera, so it won't be that noticeable."

Volt agreed and stuck the tiny device onto the ledge with a few drops of glue. I was just glad that they hadn't been caught with these supplies during training. If they had, we all surely would have been in massive trouble.

We slid out of the room, and I pulled the door closed behind us.

"Mission accomplished," Luca said quietly, grinning ear to ear. The rest of us couldn't help but smile too, despite the risk we just took. Because we were one step closer to outsmarting the Capitol.

We met again on the roof that night, although we did not have any plans to formulate nor devices to build. We just wanted to spend time together as friends, as victors of our personal fight. So instead of congregating on the open concrete expanse like usual, we went into the rooftop garden and sat by the fountain.

For the firs time, we talked about life at home, family included. Sickle told us about his little brother, and how he was afraid he would certainly be reaped if we were caught. Elektra said that he was the youngest of five sisters, and three of those were under eighteen. Young enough to be reaped, and even worse, at least to me, young enough to have volunteered in her place. But none of them did. They had stood by as their baby sister was sent off to the slaughter.

Volt apparently was an orphan, raised in a shelter away from most of the kids his age. His intelligence was noticed early on, and he was quickly apprenticed to a master inventor, whom he had worked with until he was reaped. Amelie, on the other hand, lived a fairly pampered life. Eight was hardly a luxurious district, but she was the daughter of two successful milliners for wealthy Capitol women, so she never had to worry about working in a factory or any of the other jobs often given to girls her age.

And Luca, of course, was a Career. Trained in a special school for his whole life, prepared to face the Games with the most preparation an eighteen-year-old could possibly have. Maybe that was why he seemed so much older. Because from a very early age, he had been trained to kill. The Games were never a distant possibility for him, not something to worry about just on reaping day because all the other time you were too busy working or going to school to make sure you and your family could eat.

Soon the grim conversation died out and we sat around the rim of the fountain. None of us wanted to have a water fight like the other night. We didn't have enough energy left in us. Maybe the twelve days of training wasn't to strengthen us before the Games. Maybe it was to weaken the regular tributes, because Careers would certainly be used to hard daily training. I wouldn't put it past the Capitol.

Sickle and Amelie wandered off to discuss their respective crafts, and Luca grabbed my hand to lead me down a winding garden path. I no longer blushed when he smiled at me or when his fingers accidentally brushed against mine. He was no longer some beautiful stranger; he was my friend.

"Are you scared? About what we did?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

I considered the question carefully. "Yes and no. I mean, yeah, I'm scared of what will happen if we get caught. But I'm even more scared of what will happen if we fail. It's basically guaranteed death."

"We're not going to fail," he said with so much conviction that I was forced to believe him. He gently took hold of both my hands and looked down into my violet eyes. "Trust me."

Next thing I knew, he was kissing me. Softly at first, then more passionately as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him close.

I don't know how long we spent there, standing amid a sea of fragrant flowers so out of place atop the massive glass and concrete building. The moment was so surreal, it could have lasted five minutes or five hours.

Then we were jerked back to reality by the sound of Amelie calling our names. Luca dropped his eyes to the ground sheepishly and said, "I'm sorry."

I held his hand tightly in mine and replied, "I'm not. Now let's get back before they start to worry."

We made no mention of our kiss to the others, but I think they all knew something was different between the two of us. Maybe not Elektra because she was so young, but definitely Sickle and Amelie.

That night, I lay awake in bed and thought about the events of the past few days. I was no longer a scrappy teenager from the boondocks. I had become a sophisticated soldier, ready to take on whatever life threw at me. I had helped make two machines that could out a corrupt Capitol plot, had learned more than I ever though my brain could taking in during training, had kissed a beautiful boy in a moonlight garden. I suddenly felt five, ten years older than that girl who had punched a bully and thought she was a badass for it.

I pulled my covers up higher and tried to forget that in about one week's time, I would be in the arena, fighting to kill all the new friends I'd made.


	9. Chapter 9: Plastic and Corruption

The days all seemed to blur into one as we trained. Every other night we met on the roof of the training center to listen to the recordings on the receivers of the devices we'd put in Hart's office. Most offered little to no insight into the plot at hand; instead, we fast-forwarded through hours of boring discussions of logistics and other things. We didn't even get a clue as to what the arena this year would be.

It was the night after the eleventh day of training. In just a couple days we were to be carted off to the Games, and we still had nothing. But Luca and I sat cuddled up under a blanket, my head resting on his strong chest, and I was as happy as I could be given the bleak circumstances. Maybe Grover was right, anyway. Maybe Dirk would win no matter what, even if the Capitol didn't help.

"Maybe they realized we caught on and cancelled the plans," Luca suggested after the recording ended, his soft breath tickling my scalp.

"Yeah," I chimed in. "If they realized we'd caught them red-handed, maybe they wanted to stop any embarrassment or retaliation. After all, our whole plan centers on the fact that the people of the Capitol won't like the president rigging the Games."

"I don't know," Amelie sighed. "It seems to good to be true, you know?"

So we returned to silence and listened to the sounds of the city far below. That is, until the door to the roof was kicked in and a swarm of Peacekeepers in their white uniforms rushed out with guns held high.

"Drop your surveillance equipment and step back," one of them ordered, his voice muffled and distorted inhumanly by his helmet.

I barely held back a scream as I stumbled to my feet and backed away from the Peacekeepers, reaching for Luca's hand. But it wasn't there. He wasn't there.

Moving backwards, I turned to face them and saw Luca standing among them, a resigned grimace on his perfect features.

He could have said anything, done anything. In my mind, he looked horrified, and I knew he'd been tortured into turning us in, and he mouthed the words "I'm sorry" as a tear trickled down his cheek.

But then I blinked and reality returned. Luca wasn't crying, wasn't whispering comforting words to me. He was handing our receivers over to the Peacekeepers, one of whom patted him on the shoulder and said, "We knew we could count on you."

Someone was holding me back. I think it was Sickle, although Amelie might have grabbed my arm too. I was vaguely aware that I was screaming, although whether at the Peacekeepers or Luca or the Capitol as a whole I didn't know.

The Peacekeepers faced us and ordered, "Return to your rooms at once and do not leave." Then they turned and descended the stairs.

I fell to my knees, the pavement digging into my skin. Amelie sat down next to me, wrapping her arm around my quivering shoulders and trying to tell me it would be okay.

"What just happened?" I finally managed to gasp.

"He was working for them this whole time," Sickle said, his voice sounding hollow from the shock. "Every step of the way, he pretended to guide us, but he just led us deeper into a hole."

I couldn't take it all in. Losing Luca, being betrayed, right before the Games began. It was more than I could handle, so I simply let Sickle guide me to the elevator and take me back to our floor.

Decima heard us enter and came to greet us. But as soon as she saw me sobbing and hysterical, she knew something was horrifically wrong.

"They found out," she gasped.

"Lucanus Evander. The boy from Two. He was working for them the whole time," Sickle said when my sobs redoubled.

Grover, who had entered close behind Decima, said, "Of course he did. That's what Careers do. Betray and backstab and look out for no one but themselves."

This declaration did not help my emotional state, but I still managed to rein in my tears. "Why?" I asked. "Why? Does he want Dirk to win? If he Capitol continues with their plans, he'll die too."

Grover rolled his eyes. "Sorry, kid, but I don't think there ever was any plot."

Am angry light sparked in Sickle's eyes. "Yeah. Remember that first time we heard about it? Luca was leading the way to the elevator and got lost. God, how were we so stupid? I mean, we seriously thought that it was all a coincidence that the door was open and Hart was talking about that specific thing? I bet that room's not even the Gamemaker's real office."

It was all so clear, so obvious, but much too late. Another question still bothered me, though. "Okay. I guess that much makes sense. But why did they bother doing that? What's the Capitol got to gain by framing a bunch of non-Career tributes?"

We all thought about the question for a moment, then Grover said, "Think about the five of you. Terra, you're a great physical fighter. Sickle's really popular but still strong, too. The pair from Three are remarkably intelligent. And that Amelie girl from Eight has already charmed dozens of sponsors with her looks. You five are the biggest threats to the Careers, to Luca."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped. Some deep-down part of me still wanted to believe that he wasn't really a traitor, although I knew I was lying to myself.

Sickle, like always, put two and two together before me. "The Capitol never had a plan to get District One to win. District Two's much closer to the Capitol, both geographically and, most importantly, with their loyalties. If Two wins the Games, Vitus's first victor will be a person he can count on to be the Capitol's willing puppet for years and years."

My heart sank lower and lower with each word. I knew there was no longer any rationale that could deny it. Luca had played me, had played all of us, in the worst possible way. And it could very well cost us our lives.

A device beeped on Decima's belt, and after checking it she said, "Mandatory broadcast. Let's go see what they're going to say about this."

We all moved into the TV room and crowded onto the couch. A few minutes later, President Vitus appeared at his podium, flanked by Luca and a helmetless Peacekeeper.

He bowed his head in a grave way, then began speaking.

"My friends, good people of Panem, I come bearing grim news. Five tributes, five of our honored guests, have terribly betrayed our trust. Based on misguided, false suspicions, they have hacked the very central security of the training center in an attempt to gain information about the upcoming Hunger Games." He held the handmade surveillance devices in his outstretched palm. "We found these items planted in the communication equipment of honored Head Gamemaker Marcus Hart. We have traced them back to five tributes. Both tributes from Districts Three and Seven, along with the beloved Amelie from District Eight, have been found guilty of high treason against the Capitol and therefore will suffer the consequences associated with such charges. For those unfamiliar, this means that they are unable to receive any help from sponsors for the entire duration of the Hunger Games. This means no food, no medicine, no weapons- nothing. I can only hope that these young men and women understand the gravity of what they have done."

The image flickered out and was replaced by Theo Thrice's flaming orange mane.

We sat in stunned silence for what felt like an interminable length of time while Thrice droned on. Finally, Sickle said, "We're dead. We have no chance of winning, do we?"

Grover closed his eyes and leaned back, sighing deeply. "There's always a chance. But it just become about a hundred thousand time smaller."

Janina poked her head in, tears streaming from under her sunglasses. "I'm so sorry, dearies. I know you two are innocent."

Then Vitus was back on the screen. We fell silent again to hear what else he had to say. What other death sentences he had to deal out.

"In light of recent events, we have also decided upon some permanent changes to the rules of the Games. Firstly, all tributes will be issued their own stylists instead of each District sharing a single one. Hopefully this will increase the chances of at least one team member being loyal and honest, and not hiding such deplorable behavior as what has been exhibited recently. Additionally, the training period will be shortened from twelve days to three. We have been considering this change for a considerable amount of time, and we have decided that now is the time to implement it. No longer will the tributes have to be worn down by almost two solid weeks of training. They will be fresh and energetic for the Games, not exhausted by long hours of training."

They were going to send tributes into the arena basically untrained, all because of us. Because of me. I could no longer handle the volatile mix of hatred, self-loathing, betrayal, sorrow, and guilt coursing through my blood. I stood up and walked with forced calm into my room, where I collapsed on my bed and began sobbing uncontrollably. No one came in to see me, to comfort me. They knew better than to bother me now. Besides, nothing more really needed to be said. I was going to my death in a few days anyway.

I don't know how long I laid there and cried. Next thing I knew, I was waking up to the sound of a beeping alarm next to my head. I groaned and rolled over, still dressed in my clothes from the previous night. A reminder of what had happened.

I put on my training clothes for the last time. Training was a grim ordeal. Luca wasn't even there. All the other tributes stared at the five of us as if we were diseased and infectious. No on pitied us, and I couldn't blame them one bit.

Our little team at lunch alone, like usual, but this time we were silent. In fact, very few people in the cafeteria spoke. Everyone was too preoccupied with the coming Games.

I remembered that my interview was tonight. I had been so nervous when I thought about it during the first couple days of training, but now it seemed a small matter.

When Sickle and I returned to our floor, Janina immediately swept us off to our preparation room to get us ready for our interviews.

"Your outfits for this are much simpler than your chariot outfits, of course. No capes or light-up bits."

She powdered my whole body with makeup to make my skin flawless after scrubbing me down. I sat calmly as she caked all sorts of creams and powders and other crap onto my face. It was a stark contrast to our first meeting, where I'd very nearly attacked her.

To finish off my face, she glued some tiny silver pyramid studs under my eyes. Then she led me off to the dressing room, where she pulled out a very short, very tight sleeveless turquoise dress that I eyed dubiously.

"Don't worry, dearie. This is just the first layer."

I didn't know if that comforted me or not. It didn't really matter either way, though. I pulled it on and let Janina pile on the other layers. First was a wide braided leather belt. Then came a sort of half-skirt that trailed on the ground behind me. It was made of numerous different materials; I think I spotted peacock feathers, brown leather braids, long strings of beads and pearls, silver chains, and thin gauzy strips of blue and brown fabric. Then over my head she put a sort of chest piece necklace, made of brown leather embroidered with tiny blue and silver beads in intricate patterns. Then she gave me my shoes, which I was glad to see didn't have heels. In fact, they were quite comfortable knee-high suede boots that laced all the way up the front. Finally, she topped off the look with some armbands and bracelets. I noticed that some of them were the silver bangles I'd bought on that fateful outing nine nights ago.

I twirled around once in front of the mirror. I looked simultaneously feral and elegant in the kind of way only someone as crazy as Janina could put together successfully. The leather bits were just a shade lighter than my skin so they almost blended in, making the turquoise and silver parts stand out even more.

"Thank you," I said. "It's beautiful."

"No, _you're_ beautiful, dearie," she replied, smiling widely at me. I grinned back and exited into the waiting room while she worked her magic on Sickle.

A short while later he emerged dressed in an outfit that was similar to a common black suit, but much more elaborate. The coat had long tails and the collar of the crisp white shirt were upturned, brushing the corners of his jaw. His tie was a style that he said was called a "cravat," which was more like a neckerchief than a real tie. And he too wore tall boots instead of traditional dress shoes, except his were a shiny black material. He looked positively dapper, in sharp contrast to my wild, textured getup.

The interviews began in just a few moments. Ora went first, looking stunning in a chainmail-like gold dress and sparkling eye makeup. Then came Dirk, dressed in a sort of military-style green and black suit. Both gave flawless interviews, answering each of Felix Neptune's with comfort and finesse, making all the right gestures and expressions at the perfect moment.

Gaiana strode confidently out onto the stage, her long hair flowing in the gentle breeze. Her dress was pastel purple, soft, airy, and loose, making her look younger than eighteen and far less dangerous than I knew her to be. She also gave a perfect interview, of course.

Then Luca walked out onto stage. His light brown hair was styled slickly back and he wore a simple black suit that didn't distract from his naturally handsome looks. He even still had a bit of stubble on his chin. I had to look away, force myself to forget the feeling of that rough skin against my lips.

Felix Neptune, the celebrated elderly interviewer with a shock of wild white hair and unnaturally pale blue eyes, shifted his attitude when Luca sat down. He became more serious, more grim.

"Now, Mr. Evander. There's been quite a lot of drama going around lately. Can you tell us about your involvement with the recent tribute spying scandal?" Neptune's voice was a thin warble compared to Luca's booming reply.

"Well, Felix, I can tell you that it wasn't a fun experience for me. I don't want anyone to think of me as the bad guy here." Now, that really made me seethe. "I did what I had to in order to bring the truth to light. These other tributes were doing horribly illegal things, and I knew I had to stop it. So I decided that the best way to do that was to pretend to be one of them, to join their misguided effort. I didn't enjoy turning them in, but it had to be done. My honor would never let me overlook such a terrible act of dishonesty."

The audience ate up his every word. On the screen on our waiting room wall, I could see their tiny minds struggling to decide whom to side with. I got the horrible feeling that Luca was winning.

I curled up and avoided looking at or listening to the rest of the interview. It was too painful. And when Elektra and Volt followed him, I ignored them too. Training time was over, and I had to start distancing myself from the other tributes.

Four, Five, and Six were pretty easy to tune out because I had hardly met any of them. Then it was our turn.

I went out first, putting on my best brave face and walking with my most confident swagger.

I sat down in the plush interview chair and crossed my arms as I tried to ignore the mass of people staring at me.

Felix smiled at me and said, "So, Terra, how are you liking the Capitol so far?"

I though with an overly theatrical expression for a few moments then replied, "There's not enough trees. And too much plastic and corruption."

Felix seemed surprised by my answer, but he composed himself and asked another question. "So Luca says you were at the heart of the spying plot. What do you have to say to him?"

"What do I have to say to Luca? Not much. Only that he can go–" My microphone switched off for a second. Felix was the only one close enough to hear me, but I'm pretty sure most of the audience could guess what I'd said.

When my microphone switched back on, I continued, "That's about it."

Felix chuckled a bit. "You have spirit for sure, and many people adore you for it. What do you think about not being permitted any sponsored parachutes?"

I shrugged, trying to come off as nonchalant. "I'll deal. I managed in Seven for seventeen years with no rich sponsors dropping food on me when times got tough. I know how to handle difficulty."

Felix nodded. "And your home. It's lots of pine trees and mountains, right? Is that what you're hoping for in the arena?"

"Well, of course," I said. "But that doesn't mean I'm finished if it's something else. No matter where they drop us, I'll find a way to survive."

And just like that, my interview time was up. I gracefully exited the stage and, as soon as I was off camera, leaned against the wall and began slightly hyperventilating.

"You did great," Decima said. "We were afraid they were going to try and make you out the be the villain or something. But you were perfect!"

I smiled a bit. "Thanks. I just said whatever came to mind. I bet Sickle's going to do even better."

I returned to my waiting room and watched Sickle's interview.

The first question Felix asked was, "Now, you and Miss Terra seem very close. Might there be anything romantic between you and she?"

I could see the internal struggle in Sickle's eyes as he debated whether to tell the truth or not. On one hand, romance could help us gain support. Then again, it didn't matter because we couldn't get help from sponsors anyway.

He laughed bittersweetly and smiled wryly, a nostalgic look on his face. "Actually, before we came here, I was sleeping with her brother."

You could have heard a pin drop in the crowd of thousands. Of all the potential answers he could have given, I was not expecting that one at all. I suddenly began laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all, and shouted at the television, "Oh my god I love you, Sickle!" between my laughs.

Decima looked at me as if I were a madwoman, which I probably was.

The crowd seemed to recover from its surprise, some people laughing, some gasping, others whistling. Felix laughed nervously. "Well, then, that certainly is an unexpected development. So does that mean you knew her for long before being reaped?"

Sickle's demeanor became much more serious. "No, we never met. Palmer and I had to keep our relationship secret. His dad would have beaten the shit out of both of us if he ever found out."

Felix looked at him with genuine sympathy in his eyes. If there was a single good thing about the Capitol folk, it was that they were open-minded about social issues. Except the morality of sending teenagers off to kill each other, of course.

"I'm so sorry about that," Felix said. "Does that make it harder for you to go up against her in the Games?"

"Obviously. I'd be heartless if it didn't affect me. But I'll keep her safe for him."

That worried me. Was Sickle planning on risking his life to keep me alive? I wasn't sure how to feel about this.

His interview ended and he returned to the waiting room. I jumped up and hugged him tightly. "We're going to be fine, okay? Everything's going to be fine."

Sickle hugged me back and nodded. "I know."

He held my hand tightly all the way back to the training center.


	10. Chapter 10: Desert Sun

The alarm woke me up bright and early. I forced myself to stand up and face the coming day. I really wasn't as scared as I thought I would be. Not yet, at least. At this point, I felt that I could take on anything and anyone. Nothing could scare me or surprise me anymore.

Sometime during the night Janina must have laid my uniform for the Games out on my dresser. I pulled each piece on and tried to figure out any clues as to where we would be going. The outfit was made up of fitted pants, tall boots, and a top made of numerous gauzy layers cinched together by a belt at the waist. The thickest bottom layer had a white hood that fell far over my eyes when it was pulled up. Everything was a different muted, earthy brown or gray tone.

I got the sinking feeling that I was dressed for a desert. I couldn't think of any other place that would require such clothes. And a desert meant almost no cover, no water, no food. It would have been nearly impossible to survive for long even if there weren't twenty-three other people trying to kill me.

I brushed out what was left of my hair and went out to breakfast. Like usual, Sickle was already there, partway through his meal. He too was dressed in a multilayered desert uniform.

I sat down and we both finished our meals in silence. There was nothing that could be said.

Decima and Grover joined us a few minutes before we had to leave. After a brief discussion, we decided that upon arriving at the arena, Grover would see Sickle off and I would go with Decima.

We followed our mentor and escort to the loading dock of the hovercraft, where we boarded our ship and sat in the windowless cabin. "Is the team still going to try and meet up?" I asked.

"I think so," Sickle said. "We'll see when we get there, I guess."

A few minutes later, Decima informed us that we would have to be knocked out to ensure that we didn't figure out where we were going. I felt a needle slip into my arm, and the world spun into a blurry blackness.

I awoke clear-headed and alert in a metal chamber.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"In the waiting room," Decima's familiar voice replied. "Any minute now."

I got up off the cot where I lay and looked around the room. On the far wall was a glass tube that led up to the surface, to the arena. In a few short minutes, I would be getting in there to go to my fate.

Decima hugged me and said, "You'll be fine, you hear me? You're strong and smart and brave. You're everything a victor needs to be. So you go out there and win this thing, okay?"

I nodded, sobbing into her shoulder. "I'll do my best."

She held me out at arm's length. "Don't worry. Be brave." The countdown to get into the elevator began. "May the odds be ever in your favor, Terra."

"I'll see you on the Victory Tour," I said as I walked into the elevator. The glass door slid shut behind me and I shot up to the surface.

The sun temporarily blinded me, but I focused as the thirty-second countdown reached twenty-five. I was right; we were in a desert. Specifically, we were in a sort of valley at the base of four tall mesas, with the Cornucopia in the exact center. The twenty-four of us were each standing on a circular platform in a ring around it.

_Four. Three. Two._

My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst from my chest.

The final bell pealed and we were free to go. I jumped off my platform and ran to the Cornucopia, despite all the warnings of Decima and Grover. Someone swung a club at my head, and I rolled forward and came up jumping over a pile of wooden sticks. I flew into the heart of the metal structure and grabbed two axes off a weapons rack. Hearing something behind me, I ducked and rolled as Nerva, the male from Six, swung a sword right where my neck had been a split second before. I twisted as I rose to my feet and landed the axe firmly at the top of his spine.

Yanking the bloody axe out of his body, I continued my evasive movements back out of the Cornucopia, grabbing two supply backpacks as I ran. Everywhere around me there were screams and shrieks the sounds of metal colliding with flesh and bone.

I dodged a few more attacks on my way out, then I was free. My feet carried me as fast as they could toward the northern mesa. I could only hope that the others in the team understood my hint: the Northern Star running to the north. But I wasn't even sure if all of them would know how to navigate by the position of the sun.

Once I was a safe distance from the Cornucopia, I slowed to a walk and tried to catch my breath. I thought about how many people might have died in the initial bloodbath.

I knew for sure Nerva was dead. I was pretty positive that at least two of the bodies I'd jumped over during my escape were never getting up again either. So that was at least three dead before I'd even gotten away, and people were still down there fighting.

I came across a dried streambed, where I jumped down and examined the contents of my two bags. The first one contained dried fruit and meat, two water bottles, a small bag of salt, a collapsible cooking pot, and a small knife that would only be good for cutting food.

I grinned maniacally; this would be enough to keep me alive for at least a week if I rationed it carefully. I could only hope the other bag was so useful.

It contained a tarp, two stakes, a belt, and a bandanna. I sighed. Well, at least I had one good bag. Besides, the tarp and stakes would probably provide good shelter from the incessant burning sun. Determined to make use of everything, I tied the bandanna around my neck and pulled it up over my mouth and nose. In the event of a sandstorm, this might actually be lifesaving. Then I strapped on the belt and stuck my two shiny silver axes through it.

I repacked the bags and sat in the shady ditch until I fully regained my breath. Just as I was about to get up, I heard footsteps above me. There were no voices, though, so I hoped it was just one person.

Taking a deep breath, I unsheathed one of my axes and jumped up onto the ground, weapon raised.

Ray, the sixteen-year-old girl from Ten, jumped back in surprise. I almost didn't attack, but in that moment of hesitation she raised a spear and ran at me. I sidestepped and grabbed the end of the spear with both hands, right behind the point, and yanked it sideways out of her grip. She stumbled back but drew a knife. She was much more skilled and calm than I'd anticipated for a girl who'd spent her life milking cows.

I tossed the spear aside and drew my other axe. She knew she was out-armed but still she ran at me, knife waving; I had to respect her bravery. But I also had to prevent her from killing me, so I swung my axes low and they collided with her midsection. Her eyes widened, staring straight into mine, as she struggled to hold her organs inside her torso. I dropped one of my axes and covered my hand with my mouth. The horror of the scene in front of me fully hit me, unlike the rush of chaos when I'd attacked Nerva. This girl, just a year younger than me, was dying on the ground because of my actions. I shouldered my bags, sheathed my axes, picked up the spear, and ran away as fast as I could.

I focused on anything but what I'd just done. The burn of my leg muscles, the sting of sand in my eyes, the hot sweat pouring down my spine. Every step kicked up a cloud of dust, so I pulled my bandanna back up as I ran.

At the foot of the mesa, I found a pile of boulders and settled down between two of the largest ones. Then something that I'd learning in survival skills came back to me: on sunny days, snakes like to lay out on rocks.

I clambered back to my feet right as I heard a telltale rattling sound coming from behind me. I just couldn't seem to get a break, could I?

As I pulled out an axe to behead to creature, I realized that it wasn't a snake that made that noise. Amelie was jogging across the boulder, her backpack jingling with each step. That was the rattling sound I'd heard.

"Amelie!" I exclaimed, running forward to hug her.

She gasped for breath and said, "I never thought I'd find you. But my podium was next to Sickle's and he told me to go north as soon as I could."

Good. That meant Sickle had figured out my logic and would be on his way here too.

Unless he was killed in the bloodbath. The thought hit me like a hammer to the chest. Until tonight, I had no way of knowing who died today. They hadn't even done the initial cannons to count the dead yet.

Amelie and I went to work constructing a makeshift shelter out of my tarp and the blankets that came with her pack. We stretched the tarp between the rocks I'd hidden in, weighed the corners down with smaller rocks, and lined the bottom with blankets. It made a decent sort of cave, and luckily the dusty pale brown on the tarp blended in with the surrounding boulders. But just for extra caution, I sprinkled the top with some sand and tiny pebbles to camouflage it further. Besides, we didn't really have anything else to do except wait for the others.

Sitting in the little cave, I couldn't help but ask, "Did you see him? At the Cornucopia?"

She didn't have to ask who I meant. "Yeah, for just a second. I don't think he even saw me. He was too busy cutting off Devv's head."

"That twelve-year-old from Five?" My heart sunk. There was still a tiny shred of me clinging to the possibility that Luca had somehow been coerced or threatened into betraying us. But hearing that from Amelie destroyed my last bit faith in him. He was just another Career, another trained killer who would stop at nothing to win.

Which made me wonder what I would stop at to win. Would I be able to bring myself to kill someone so young and innocent just to save my own life? I hoped and believed not, but I guess there was no way to know for sure without ever having been in the situation.

Amelie and I laid down on the blankets and waited. We didn't speak, but stayed alert for any sounds of movement outside. There was nothing. Eventually we sat by the opening of our cave and watched the sun set over the west mesa. I let Amelie sleep first, taking watch myself.

The stars came out over the desert as bright as I remembered them at home. I'd almost forgotten what they looked like during my confinement in the Capitol. Because despite Vitus calling us "guests," we were prisoners sentenced to death. Nothing more.

Suddenly a screen appeared in the sky and began announcing the dead.

I was shocked to see Ora, the ferocious archer Career from District One, as the first face in the stars. My heart dropped into my stomach at the next face. Volt. I barely had time to register what I'd seen before the next face flashed, which to my relief was not Elektra. The next was Devv, whom Amelie had told me Luca had killed, followed by both District Six tributes, including Nerva. I closed my eyes and tried to eliminate that memory from my mind. Behind me I heard Amelie wince as Weaver's boyish face projected into the sky.

Then came a painfully long strong of names: Ray, Darri, Blossom, Thorn, Rosemary, Garrett. Every tribute, male and female, from Districts Ten, Eleven, and Twelve, dead on the first day. Three of the poorest Districts now had no chance of gaining a victor this year.

Half the tributes were dead. I curled up my knees to my chin and fought tears.

I was pulled away from my depression by a rustling outside, much like the noise I'd mistaken for a rattlesnake earlier. I instinctively grabbed my axe, although I hoped it was Sickle or Elektra. It physically hurt not to be able to include Volt in that list.

Sure enough, Sickle soon poked his head around the boulder and whispered, "Terra!"

I ran out and hugged him tightly. "I was so worried! I hoped you'd be able to figure out where I'd gone."

"You're the Northern Star, remember? Only one place you really could go. I just hope that the other tributes haven't made that connection yet."

Sickle had no backpacks or visible supplies other than two long daggers on a belt around his waist.

"What do you think of our fort?" I asked as I woke up Amelie.

"It's subtle enough from a distance, but we'll definitely have to move tomorrow. I don't think we'll be able to camp out in one place for very long at all for the whole Games."

We welcomed him into our little camp and he offered to take first watch, pointing out that he was still wide awake from his trek across the desert from the Cornucopia.

As I was crawling under a blanket, he said hesitantly, "And I bet you saw on the screen, but Volt's dead. I saw him at the bloodbath."

I felt no more tears threatening my eyes, just a hollow emptiness and a growing flame inside my heart, driving me to keep going. To protect the others, especially little Elektra. Speaking of which, where was she? Being so clever, she clearly managed to survive the bloodbath, but how long could such a young girl last on her own in the desert?

I forced myself to forget all of this, to pretend I was safe back home, as I crawled under the covers and quickly fell asleep.

The next day, we packed up our bags and headed out. Sickle took my extra bag, and we began walking across the sandy desert.

It was hotter today than I recalled, perhaps because I had less adrenaline coursing through my body and distracting me from little things like sweat. But today, I noticed the dripping beads of sweat that trickled down my spine and soaked my clothes. On one hand, I was glad for the layered clothes that protected us from the relentless sun, but at times I was tempted to strip down to my underclothes because of the overwhelming heat. But I resisted and just kept my hood up, shadowing my face from direct rays. I felt even worse for Sickle and Amelie, whose porcelain skin would surely be baked to a searing red burn before the day was out despite raised hoods.

"We need to get to water," Sickle said.

"Yeah, but where will we find that? We're literally in the middle of a desert," Amelie pointed out. "Plus, everyone will be looking for water, and there are probably only limited sources, so it increased the chance that we'll have to fight."

Sickle considered this. "True, but we're three people, and we're all seventeen or eighteen years old too. That'll put us at a good advantage against anyone except maybe a group of Careers."

"True, but isn't a group of Careers the most likely to be able to locate a source of water?"

Sickle and Amelie weighed the pros and cons of searching for water while I zoned out and spun my axe to distract myself. I didn't want to think about strategy or fighting or any of that right now. I wanted to pretend that I was safe.

That pretense was shattered as soon as Sickle shouted, "Run!" and I felt something fast and sharp flying through the air next to my head.


	11. Chapter 11: Broken Doll

I rolled across the ground as an arrow whizzed above my head. Unsheathing my axes, I turned to see the male from District Four, Eoin, drawing his bow back again.

Amelie ran at him with the spear I'd gotten from Ray held out in front of her. She managed to duck around another arrow, so Sickle and I took the opportunity to run at his unprotected back. Sickled jumped forward and dug one of his daggers into Eoin, who fell to the ground screaming and clenching his upper arm. We all backed away, unsure of how to proceed. None of us wanted another death on our hands, and yet we hesitated to just leave a highly trained, powerful Career boy alive.

I realized that Amelie was clutching her shoulder, and with a deepening sense of dread I saw that the tufted shaft of an arrow stuck out of her at a sickening depth. She gritted her teeth as she watched blood soak her light tan clothes.

Sickle saw the same thing and ran at Eoin again. I tore my eyes away right before I heard a bloodcurdling scream. After a few moments silence fell to the desert again, followed by a single cannon. Eleven left.

I rushed to Amelie's side, cradling the arm rendered useless by the arrow in her shoulder. She was pouring sweat even more than the desert heat justified, and every short breath seemed to be a great effort.

"It's okay, it's alright," I said. "We'll find some shelter and see what we can do about this. You're gonna be fine."

She nodded, although by the lightless look in her clear blue eyes I could that she did not believe me for a second.

She allowed herself to be led closer to the base of the mesa, where the ground was more uneven and we could huddle down between two rocky dunes. It wasn't perfect, but Amelie couldn't wait for better.

We sat her down and began pulling back layers from her shoulder. We had to cut the thin fabric off from around the arrow because they were pinned to her skin by the sharp point. She barely whimpered although by her gritted teeth and drenched brow I could tell that she was in agony.

When we had her shoulder free, Sickle dripped a tiny amount of water over the wound and tugged lightly at the arrow. Amelie groaned and turned her face away, her doll-like mouth twisted into a grimace of pain. The arrow barely slid out.

I remembered back to being a woodcutter in District Seven. The variety of injuries I'd seen. This reminded me of a time when one of my friends had gotten a foot-long sliver embedded in her leg after falling on a pile of scrap wood. They'd left the splinter in until she was ready for medical care. Check; we'd already done that. Then the doctor had looked at her and said, "This won't hurt too much, okay?" and ripped the thing out in one pull. The girl, of course, rolled on the table and screamed in agony for several minutes, but the doctor later explained that pulling it out bit by bit would tear up her muscle, like sandpaper running back and forth, back and forth instead of just one longer stroke.

I looked at Sickle, and he nodded once. Probably too discreet for Amelie to notice, but I knew exactly what he meant. He, too, remembered that incident.

"Look at, Amelie," I said, taking her face in my hands and forcing her to listen. "You're going to be find, okay? You hear me? Just fine. We'll get this thing out and bandage you up and we can rest here for a while, and everything will be alright."

There was a stomach-turning squelching sound followed by a sharp gasp, and a few seconds later the screaming began. But then Amelie clamped her hand over her mouth to silence the screams, realizing that it would be a dead giveaway of our position, and the fact that one of us was wounded, to other tributes.

I admired her strength and wondered if I could do the same. Probably not. If I were in that much pain, I would think only of the pain, not how best I could keep my friends safe.

Sickle patted her good shoulder, and she clung to his arm, whimpering and sweating and crying. She was far from the dainty, frilly doll who'd arrived in the Capitol two weeks ago. I'd never had more admiration for her.

I realized that she was bleeding badly from the wound. I mentally smacked myself; of course she was, we'd just pulled a barbed arrow from her flesh.

I pulled a blanket out of my pack and tore a strip from it, pressing it to her shoulder with as much pressure as I could allow. As her whimpers from the initial pain died down, I applied more pressure, trying to slow the blood as much as possible. The soaked blanket strip was not comforting.

Sickle tore another and placed it over the wound right as I removed my saturated one.

"You're doing great. You're going to be fine. It's almost done," he whispered as he worked.

Amelie's eyes were gently closed, her breathing less rapid. I couldn't tell if this was good or bad.

Sickle's cloth was getting blood-soaked at a much slower rate than mine had. I hoped it was because the wound was slowing, not because she had too little blood to bleed. With her already porcelain skin, it was hard to tell.

He removed the strip as I tore off two more. I folded up the first one and pressed it to the wound, and Sickle used the other to tie a makeshift bandage around her shoulder, looping it up over her collarbone and under her armpit.

She sat back against the dune wall, touching the bandaged wound lightly with two fingers.

"Thanks," she whispered. Her voice was raw from screaming.

We sat in a line against the dune and passed around a water bottle, taking tiny sips to preserve it as long as we could.

"I think I'm okay to walk," Amelie said after a while. "It's just my shoulder, not my legs."

I hesitated to agree, knowing it could cause her immense pain, but I decided that if we stayed here too long, someone was bound to find us.

Just as I got up to help Amelie to her feet, a freckled, doe-eyed face poked around the corner of a dune.

"Elektra!" Amelie cried.

The tiny girl ran towards us, but slowed when she saw the bloody bandages on Amelie's shoulder. "I heard screams," she muttered. "They sounded like you. But I wasn't sure."

Amelie smiled and hugged Elektra with her unharmed arm. "I'm fine. It's just a cut."

"Who died?" she asked. "I heard a cannon, then I heard your scream. I was afraid it was one of you."

"Eoin, from Four," I said. "He's the one who hurt Amelie. And what about you? Are you okay? You've been alone all through the bloodbath and first night."

"I'm okay. I just avoided people and ran if I saw anyone."

I wondered how long we could do that. Just run around and let everyone else kill each other off or wear each other down, like Catherine in that fistfight Luca had told me about.

But that would mean that we'd have to end up killing each other. I clenched my fists and tried to think of something else. Anything but the fact that only one of us would make it out of here alive. I looked at Amelie, wounded and weakened, and Elektra, so small and innocent. Would either of them be able to survive to the end?

I tried to concentrate on the fact that we were safe for now. Amelie was fixed up as well as possible, Elektra had found us, and no one was shooting arrows at us.

We continued on our previous path, still trying to find water. We asked Elektra if she'd seen any on her path, but no such luck. So we trekked on through the parching dry heat, our hoods raised to protect our faces.

We wandered around for hours, apparently getting no closer to finding water. On the bright side, we didn't run into any other tributes, nor any natural predators. Although I didn't know what natural predators lived in the desert besides poisonous snakes, which were easy enough to scare off with loud noises. Were there coyotes out here? I wasn't even sure if coyotes attacked humans or not. Although knowing the Capitol, any coyotes or other large animals were probably some sort of vicious muttation bred to murder people on sight or something.

The sun now hung lower in the sky, so we weren't as oppressed by its heat, yet sweat still soaked all our clothes. We talked very little; our throats were all parched from breathing in the dry desert air and dust.

After climbing up a short but sheer cliff, we tumbled onto solid ground and stood up to see one of the most vertigo-inducing things I'd ever laid eyes on.

About ten feet from where I stood, the ground dropped off into a canyon so deep I couldn't even see the ground from my angle. Sickle clambered to his feet next to me and gasped. "Keep back," he said immediately, an order which none of us protested.

Thinking back to the roof of the training center, I picked up a small rock and threw it off the cliff, expecting it to bounce back. But it fell without interference, making clacking sounds against the wall of the canyon until it fell out of range of hearing.

"Let's find a wider spot and make camp for the night," Sickle suggested. The rest of us agreed. Between the four of us, we would surely be able to come up with a clever plan to use the cliff to our advantage.

As darkness fell upon the desert, the temperature plunged down into frigid cold. The dry air held in no warmth, leaving us shivering under our meager blankets. I imagined that this is probably what the surface of the Moon felt like– freezing, dry, gritty, foreboding.

I curled up closer to Sickle, trying to take in every drop of warmth that I could. He wrapped his arm around me, and I was taken back to those nights of sitting atop the training center with Luca's strong arm draped across my shoulders. I tried my best to wipe those memories from my mind, to pretend they never happened, but the ghost of the kisses that had seemed so sincere still lingered on my trembling lips.

A distraction soon arose in the form of the screen announcing the dead. It lit up the sky and blocked out the stars behind it, flashing two faces: Eoin, the one Sickle had killed from Four, and Thistle, a tiny twelve-year-old girl from Nine. I hadn't even heard the second cannon fire. That left a grand total of ten living tributes, four of them Careers. But then I realized that if four of the remaining tributes were Careers, four more were our group, so that meant that only two independent tributes survived, which then meant that only two tributes stood between our safety and the Careers hunting us down. The odds were not looking to be in our favor at this point.

I don't know how long it was before I fell asleep, but in the morning, I hardly felt rested. My bones creaked as I stretched and crawled out from under the blankets. Grains of sand dug into the skin of my face, and none of my clothes were clean enough to be of any help.

I passed around the bits of dried fruit and meat, and each of us took as little as possible to help fill our stomachs a bit. As I munched on a corner of dried beef, I scanned the horizon for any sign of danger. But with the sheer cliff to our backs, there was only one way that anyone could reach us, and the four of us were all on lookout.

"Where do we go from here?" Amelie asked. "Do you think there's any way we can get down into the canyon? I bet no one else will follow us. Plus there might be a river at the bottom."

The rest of us considered the proposition. "That could work," I said. "But first we need to find out if there's even a way down."

We agreed to stay along the edge of the canyon and search for any sort of pathway down other than climbing the sheer cliff, which was out of the question. It was easily three hundred feet tall.

We walked and walked and sweated and made no progress. Everything looked exactly the same. For all I knew, we could just be walking in long loops, getting nowhere. That is, until I looked down and saw a wide river snaking along the floor of the canyon.

"Guys! Water!" I shrieked as loud as I dared without attracting attention. The others looked over the edge and gasped.

"Now how the hell do we get to hit?" Sickle grumbled, looking along the edge of the canyon wall.

"Look over there. Doesn't that look like a path? Sort of like stairs?" Amelie said, pointing to a spot not too far away.

Sickle squinted and nodded. "Yeah, I think so. What do you say? Should we go for it?"

"We've got no better options," I pointed out pessimistically.

With a physical goal in sight, we moved with an increased sense of purpose and energy. Every step actually seemed to bring us closer to the path, unlike our aimless wander before.

Soon we reached the spot and stood hesitantly at the top. The pathway was not stairs, like we'd originally thought, but rather a narrow ramp that zigzagged three hundred feet down.

"Are you sure about this?" Elektra asked as we stood at the top.

I nodded. "We don't have much choice. Between the four of us, we're almost out of water. And in this heat, we won't last two days without hydration."

Amelie took a deep breath and stepped carefully onto the ledge. Once she had sure footing, she began to shimmy along with her back to the wall. It was slow going, but soon all of us were making our way along. Luckily, after a couple minutes of painfully slow progress, the path widened just enough for us to walk normally.

Now that we were free to move somewhat comfortably, our pace increased greatly and we loosened up a bit, even talking to each other a couple times. Soon we were over halfway down, although the drop was still dizzyingly high.

That was when I realized that two people were coming up the canyon from the other direction. As they came closer, I realized it was Gaiana and Dirk. Two Careers coming straight at us with no time to run and little room to fight.

"Turn around! Now!" Sickle yelled, grabbing Elektra's wrist and pulling her back up the cliff. But the Careers were much faster, having trained their whole lives to be in perfect physical condition.

Amelie lowered Ray's spear and I stood next to her with an axe in each hand. Behind us, Sickle guarded Elektra with two daggers.

"Well, fancy seeing you here," Dirk drawled, spinning a sword in his hand. I could tell by his tone that they probably had seen us the whole time and had come up to meet us.

I refused to take his bait, to draw out the pointless conversation. Instead, I leaped at him with axes raised. He brought his sword up and blocked me, knocking me back. I flailed my arms as I teetered on the edge of the cliff, and one of my axes flew out of my sweaty palm, spinning down through a hundred feet of empty air.

Amelie used this distraction to take a stab at Dirk, who again tried to use his sword to block, but he could only deflect the longer weapon. The spear tip drove into his upper thigh, causing him to stumble and scream as Amelie ruthlessly ripped the point back out of his muscle. But even this didn't stop him. He limped forward and threw a dagger with his free hand, which we all managed to dodge, but only just.

I realized that Gaiana had drawn a bow back, and it was aimed between my eyes. Without thinking, I dropped to the ground. The arrow missed me by several feet, and I rolled forward and grabbed her feet, dragging her to the ground with me. I held her down against the ledge, her neck positioned against the edge with my axe pressed against it.

When I looked down into her blue eyes, I expected to see the calculated ferocity of a trained killer. Instead, I was greeted with the terror of a teenage girl poised literally on the brink of death. Sweat dripped down her brow and mingled with tears, trailing down her pretty face into her gasping mouth.

"Please," she said, her whole body trembling. "Let me live a little longer. I'll join you. I'll help you. Dirk and I have a camp down there with food and weapons and those tablets that purify water. We can work together. Please, I'm begging you."

I looked up for the approval of the others, just in time to see Dirk grabbing Amelie's neck. The two of them struggled momentarily, then Amelie's delicate dancer feet slipped against the edge of the drop-off. At that point I could see on her face that she knew she was about to die, but that fear was mixed with stoic determination. She stopped resisting Dirk and instead wrapped her arms and tight around him as she could. From a distance they probably looked as if they were hugging. That is, until they both tumbled off the edge.

I screamed wordlessly as Amelie fell away from Dirk, her white-blond curls flying out as if she were underwater. Everything moved in slow motion for a split second. Then her flailing body fell like a rock to the bottom of the canyon floor.

I stared into Gaiana's reddened eyes as a cannon blasted in the distance and swung my axe down.


	12. Chapter 12: Alarm

Sickle, Elektra, and I proceeded down the stony path like robots. My light clothes were stained deep red from the blood of the three people I had singlehandedly murdered. I hated the Capitol, the Games. I hated every person who made the Games possible. So I hated myself perhaps the most, for I was doing exactly as the Capitol wanted. I was becoming a ruthless killer, a heartless monster, and the audience was probably eating it up like the sickly sweet candies they gorge themselves on.

We reached the bottom of the canyon without breaking our silence. I could scarcely imagine what Elektra must be feeling. She was only thirteen, and she had already witnessed horrors that were breaking me down into a quivering mess. The last thing I could do, the last way I could protect my humanity would be through protecting her. No harm would come to her, and she would not have to hurt anyone. Her black eyes were already far too hollow for one so young.

We found Gaiana and Dirk's camp. So she hadn't been lying about the food and weapons. I found another axe to replace my lost one, although the new one had a longer handle and smaller wedged blade, more like a chrome tomahawk than the full-sized axes that I was used to. Sickle filled up our water bottles plus the ones the Careers had gathered, putting a drop of cleansing chemicals into each full bottle. We had six in total, enough for each of us to have two at all times.

Sitting around a small campfire as it neared sunset, we discussed our future plans. It was the first time we'd talked since Amelie, Dirk, and Gaiana had died. Had been killed.

"These Games are going awfully fast," Sickle pointed out. "We're at the end of day three and we're already down to just seven."

Elektra added, "Let's go over who's left. There's the three of us, Luca, Catherine, the girl from Five, and the boy from Nine, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Do you know anything about the non-Careers?"

Sickle frowned. "I feel like I met the Five girl in training a couple times. Elna, I think her name is. She was training to become a geologist. I don't know, that might help her in some way out here. Everything's so rocky and dead, she might know something useful."

"Yeah. I don't think Sauer, from Nine, is going to know much about this place. He's only a year older than me, and Nine is a farming district, so it must be pretty fertile. He probably is just as lost as we are," Elektra said, darkness clouding her dirty face.

So those were our last opponents. A Career who thought I was a bitch, another who had torn my heart out for his own personal gain, a teenage scientist, and a farmer boy.

"Let's just stay here," I suggested. "Luca and Catherine will no doubt kill off the other two pretty easily. Then they can come to us."

It was the last shred of power we had. It seemed a little pathetic, but it was better than nothing. We could at least sit down here with a camp and food and bedrolls and a nearly infinite water supply while the other four starved out in the barren desert.

In a thin, quivering voice, Elektra asked the one question I couldn't bring myself to even consider. "What happens when they're all dead and we're still alive?"

No one replied for several long moments. Finally, Sickle murmured, "We'll figure something out. We still have time to think. The Gamemakers will probably want to draw this out since the beginning has gone so fast. For now, you two get some sleep. I'll take first watch."

Neither of us argued with him. The bedrolls left by the other two were much warmer than our meager blankets, eliminating the need for the shared body warmth that brought back that flood of unwanted memories.

Luca was still out there somewhere, probably trying to hunt us down and kill us. What would he do when he found us? Would he feel even a tinge of remorse as he tried to cut me down where I stood? Maybe I wouldn't even see him coming. The coward in me liked that idea. That he would set a trap, lure me in, kill me before I knew what was going on. Because at this point, a fast and painless death seemed like the best possible outcome. Far better than being stabbed or decapitated or dragged off a cliff to shatter on the rocks below.

"We're going to be okay," Elektra said, as if she could sense my fear.

I felt pathetic. The child that I was supposed to be protecting was the one comforting me from my silly fears. The fact of the matter was, I was not getting out of the arena alive. So in the long run, it didn't really make a difference if it was a fast or slow death.

"I know," I lied. "We'll think of something. Like Sickle said, we still have plenty of time."

But time is of no use if it doesn't produce ideas. Four days passed in that tiny camp, and we still were no closer to coming up with a plan. No cannons had boomed, no faces had illuminated the night. We might as well have been a happy family camping on a vacation, if not for the lingering dread in the backs of our minds, the certain knowledge that only one of us was surviving to the end of this. And "us" didn't necessarily mean one of our threesome; there was always a chance that one of the others won. That the Capitol got their way and Luca was crowned victor in front of thousands of cheering fans, all of them oblivious to his cruelty.

But that was awfully hypocritical, wasn't it? Yes, he had broken my heart, and that was a mean thing to do. I had murdered three fellow tributes. I really wasn't in any position to call him cruel.

Curled up inside my bedroll on the fifth night at the camp, I cried for the first time since the Games began. I think Elektra was asleep, but I'm sure Sickle heard me. My body shook with the force of repressed sobs as I dug deeper into my bedroll and pulled the covers over my head.

I didn't know why I was crying, at least at this point. Before the Games, I would have thought that I by now I would have cried out all my tears, but it wasn't until just now that everything sunk.

It had always been in the back of my mind that this was real, that I was really in the Games, that I really could die at any moment. But now it hit me with the force of a bullet, jolting me into a harsh reality that I couldn't handle.

I fell asleep with salty tears crusting sand to my face. When Sickle woke me for my guard shift, my eyes burned like they were on fire. I dragged myself to the front of the tent and curled into a ball, with my knees pulled up under my chin.

"We'll be okay," Sickle promised as he climbed into his bedroll. I knew he was bluffing, as did he.

But then I saw Elektra shift a bit, and I realized she was awake.

"Yeah, I know," I lied. "It's just a little overwhelming."

Then silence again fell on the camp, and I tried to avoid my own thoughts until morning.

When all three of us were awake and fed, I said, "We need to move camp. It's been dangerous to stay here for so long, and remaining any longer would just be stupid."

Sickle immediately agreed. "We can move further down the canyon. Hopefully that'll get us away from the others."

"Do either of you have any idea how big the arena is?" Elektra asked. "They could be a dozen miles away for all we know."

Sickle shook his head. "It could be that big, but even if it is, the Gamemakers will be starting to try and herd us together by now. The beginning went too fast, but now things are going too slow. It's been five days without a single death, so that probably means there hasn't even been a battle."

What he meant by that last bit was, if Catherine or Luca had found each other or one of the others, we would certainly have heard a cannon. So the Capitol was getting bored watching the seven of us survive without a fight. The three of us were probably the most dull, just sitting around and patrolling and purifying water all day. Hell, I hadn't even had a single emotional breakdown until just last night. Vitus was probably at Hart's throat trying to make him create a more interesting spectacle.

That was when we heard the cawing. I couldn't place what it was at first, until I realized that it was coming from the sky. Looking up, I saw a swarm of what appeared to be vultures, based on what I'd learned in training.

"What's up with that?" Sickle asked as he tore down our tent and rolled it into a backpack.

"I don't know. But vultures only feed on dead things, right?" I asked with little conviction.

"Normal ones, yeah," Elektra muttered. "But normal ones aren't flock birds, though, are they? I think I remember that from training."

They were descending.

"Run!" I screamed, grabbing up the last of my bags.

The other two followed close behind. Luckily the days of resting and relatively consistent food had restored the strength in our legs, so we were able to make excellent time. But we still were no match for the bloodthirsty muttated birds. Sensing one close behind me, I hacked over my shoulder with the tomahawk axe and felt it connect with a small skull. Something large hit the ground, and Sickle called, "Good job! Try to get more!"

I looked over and saw him decapitate a gruesomely large, mostly bald vulture with a short sword.

Elektra, who didn't have a weapon and therefore didn't have to worry about fighting them off, was a few dozen feet ahead of us. She turned a corner and screamed, "Dead end! Turn around, quick!"

But it was too late. The birds had us cornered. Some of the landed on the ground and hopped towards us, while others hovered in the air in a way that was utterly unnatural for a bird so large.

As I hacked at long, wrinkled necks, I realized that they weren't really trying to hurt us that much, it seemed. But they were making a hell of a lot of noise.

"They're not a weapon– they're an alert!" I hissed. "To tell the other tributes where we are!"

Sickle cursed as he continued to slash with his sword. "Well, we need to kill them anyway. Minimize the damage."

But we both knew the damage had already been done. With the silence of the desert and nothing but a few ditches and cactuses to block the noise, anyone within at least a mile, if not several, would have a general idea of our location. That must have been why they were birds, not something bigger or more dangerous. Because as birds, they could remain in the sky and sound the alarm far and wide. Sure enough, as we got down to the last half dozen, they took off without so much as a scratch at our faces. Landing on the edge of the canyon, they sounded an ear-shattering shriek that all the other tributes were sure to hear. After all, Hart would not let such a deceptive weapon go to waste if none of the others were in earshot.

"This is it!" Sickle shouted. "We've got to stop lurking around and waiting. We have to start hunting."

I adjusted my grip on my axes and nodded, although it was not an entirely heartfelt agreement.

We walked back past our old campsite to the ramp up the canyon wall. This time, we stood back and double-checked to make sure no one was coming down. None of us wanted a repeat of last battle.

Going up was markedly more exhausting than going down. By the time we reached the narrowest part near the top, our legs were trembling so badly that we all feared losing our balance and tumbling hundreds of feet to our deaths. Just like Amelie had.

I dragged my thoughts back to the present as we crested the top of the canyon. It was a little unnerving to be back on open ground after spending those days in the relative shelter of the canyon, but it allowed us to see everything that was going on all around us. Plus sound carried well across the packed, dry sand, so we would possibly be able to hear anyone trying to sneak up on us. Although the vulture mutts had basically eliminated any chance that we could sneak up on anyone else.

Across the desert, in the far distance, a fire broke out. What it could possibly have used as fuel, I had no idea. It must have been some sort of Capitol-made fake fire, but I would bet almost anything that it burned just like the real stuff.

It was far enough away that we were not too concerned about it. If it seemed to get much closer, we could run the other way and still have a huge head start.

We sat down and took a water break, watching the flames lick the blue sky. As the towering wall of fire appeared to be dying down, we heard a cannon. So the Capitol's plan to direct a tribute had backfired, no pun intended.

"I wonder who it was," I said.

"Not Catherine or Luca, I'd bet," Sickle replied. "That means we're half the remaining tributes now."

I knew what he was implying with this, although he didn't have to say it aloud. If the other three died, we still didn't have a way to get the three of us out alive. But Luca and Catherine were tough, would be hard to kill. So that gave us more time, although it offered no more ideas.

The flames disappeared from the horizon altogether, and we halfheartedly continued our journey until nightfall. As we were pitching the tent, the screen blotted out the stars for the first time in days and announced the death of Sauer, the boy from Nine. So the scientist girl was the last one on her own. Of course, that was assuming that she hadn't joined the Careers, and I was almost positive they wouldn't allow that. After all, what would two Careers want with a single untrained tribute?

Then it hit me. To lure us in. If there were no independent tributes left to hunt, we would have to go for the Careers. They knew that we were forbidden to receive supplies from sponsors, so if we didn't try to end the game quickly, we would run out of food and have no way to replenish our supply. Whereas they probably had sponsors sending them supplies all the time. Maybe even some of the ones who were originally going to sponsor Sickle or Elektra or me.

I relayed my epiphany to Sickle, who scowled. He clearly didn't like the thought, but he couldn't deny that it made sense. Our only hope would be that Elna had turned down the offer of an alliance with the two Careers. The chances of that were slim, though. After all, what untrained, independent tribute would refuse to join two strong Careers who undoubtedly had food and supplies, especially at this late point in the Games?

During my guard shift, I tried to plumb my mind to think of a way to keep all three of us alive, but I came up empty each time. So I was relieved when Sickle tapped my shoulder and told me he could take over guard now.

The next day, we awoke early and set out at the crack of dawn. Just as the sun had reached halfway to its peak, we saw something moving in the distance, although it was hazy through the heat waves radiating from the hard-packed sand. At first I though that perhaps it was just a cluster of cactuses or rocks that the rippling air seemed to animate. But as we walked closer, there was no denying that it was moving towards us, and growing larger as it did.

Then I realized that it wasn't one thing. It was three. Three tributes, each armed to the teeth and partially armored, moving closer and closer to us with a steady pace that showed no fear.

The final battle had arrived.


	13. Chapter 13: Fallen Star

Sickle, Elektra, and I looked at each other and readied our weapons. This was it. No turning back, no more time to come up with impossible plans to save ourselves. Just us and them, and one winner.

My axe hung loosely in my hand at my side as the other three came closer. I could just barely see their faces. Luca looked like hell, his soft brown hair ruffled and shaggy, his once-tame stubble now growing scruffy and thick on his chin. He clearly had already been in a few fights, for his clothes were shredded and bloodstained in several places. No longer was he the beautiful, charming boy I'd foolishly fallen for in the Capitol. He was a monster inside and out now.

I realized I'd been stupid to assume that Elna would be an innocent and scared kid. She walked with the same ferocity and confidence as the Careers flanking her, her reddish hair blowing freely in the breeze.

Sickle grasped my free hand and squeezed it tightly. "It'll be okay."

They were getting close. I saw Elna pulling out a longbow, so I raised my axe and ran at them in a swerving, erratic motion so that it would be nearly impossible for her to guess where I'd be next.

The other two followed my lead. I clashed into Luca and he threw me to the ground, but I rolled back onto my feet in one swift motion and poised myself to lunge at him. But when I did, he just shoved me back, grabbing one of my axes and causing me to stumble to regain footing. No matter what I seemed to try, he just deflected me away. He might as well have had a force field around him.

At least he didn't appear to have any ranged weapons. Sooner or later, he would have to fight me. But maybe not until after he'd worn me down to exhaustion.

Then Sickle came out of seemingly nowhere and tackled him to the ground, pressing a sword to his throat. But Luca hooked the curve of the axe blade around the back of Sickle's neck and pulled him down. With just a quick motion of a blade, they could both kill each other, so neither moved. And I just stood dumbstruck on the side, staring down at the two of them. I knew that if I tried to make a move for Luca, he would slit Sickle's throat. But then I realized that Elektra was still trying to fend of Elna and Catherine on her own, so I ran over to help. I jumped onto Elna's back right before she could let an arrow fly, causing her to tumble to the ground and drop her bow. Closing my eyes to find off both tears and the horror of what I was doing, I chopped down once with my axe and felt droplets of blood splatter my face. A cannon sounded, and I rolled back to my feet and surveyed the fight. Catherine was attacking Elektra, who dodged nimbly around, and Luca and Sickle remained locked in a death grip on the ground; they appeared to be speaking.

I tried to distract Catherine, picking up a rock and throwing it at her. "Leave her alone!" I screamed, hurling another, larger stone.

She lowered her spear and walked towards me. "You really think any of you can win?" she sneered. "You never had a chance. You were dead as soon as they drew your name from that glass bowl."

Her words precisely echoed the fears I'd had since that fateful Reaping day in the town square. But I refused to let my fears show.

"We've gotten this far. We can make it to the end."

Catherine smiled coldly. "Perhaps. Perhaps one of you can make it out alive. Who will it be? You? Will you let this little girl and your brother's lover die for you? I bet he would never forgive you."

I adjusted my grip on my remaining axe. "We'll find a way out. There's got to be one."

Catherine laughed. "The Capitol would fall before letting more than one tribute win."

I fought back tears that were being called by the truth of her words. "Well, if only one of us can make it out alive, it's not going to be you." And with that, we ran at each other.

What followed was a blur. I twirled and ducked and weaved and slashed, as did she, but neither of us got more than a minor scratch on the other. Then, before I could register what was happening, Catherine's spearhead was embedded in my shoulder. I'd never felt a pain so intense or burning. I fell to my knees screaming, holding the shaft so that it didn't fall and tear up my shoulder even more.

She stood over me, where I knelt bleeding and weak on the ground. I was entirely at her mercy. She pulled out a small dagger to deal the death blow, when suddenly there was a scream.

We both looked over and saw Luca and Sickle bleeding on the ground, quickly followed by two consecutive cannon shots. "No!" I screamed, the sound tearing my raw, parched throat. "Sickle, no!" Tears ran down my face and cut through the grimy mess of dirt, dust, sweat, and blood caking my features.

Catherine gasped as she realized she was alone now. I took the opportunity to pull the spear out of my shoulder, which was perhaps even more painful that when it went in. But I contained my agony while Catherine was still distracted.

I turned the spear around and plunged it into her middle. She gasped, her eyes widened, and she fell to the ground, where she lay convulsing until a cannon shot fired.

I fell back to my knees and gripped my shoulder with my unharmed hand. Elektra rushed to my side and said, "It's okay. We're both alive. I'll find some bandages and fix you up."

But I shook my head. "Don't. Only one of us can survive this, Elektra. Just walk away. Please." The words hurt as they crawled out of my throat, but I knew it was the best outcome possible. If Elektra walked away, her hands would be free of any blood, and she could live without the guilt of having killed anyone. And I wouldn't have to make the choice between killing myself and killing an innocent child.

I was still begging incoherently for her to let me die when the world faded to black and my face hit the hard-packed sand.

When my eyes fluttered open, my shoulder hurt considerably less. I touched it lightly with my fingertips and felt a layer of bandages covering it. I sighed heavily, closing my eyes again. Elektra had disobeyed me, fixed me up and bandaged my shoulder. Of course she had- she wasn't the kind of person who could leave an injured friend to die, no matter how much it would benefit her.

After a while I managed to sit up. Elektra sat by a fire a few yards away, poking the embers with a sword. She'd moved us a little bit away from the battle site, closer to the canyon.

I stood up and declared, "I need a minute alone, okay? I'll just be over there." I nodded my head towards the canyon cliff.

She nodded silently, still prodding around the embers.

Cradling my injured arm, I walked over and stood by the edge of the canyon. The black sky overhead was studded with countless stars, little pinpricks of light shining through an interminable blackness. They and the bright full moon illuminated the desert in a cold silver glow that seemed to sink into your bones. And hundreds of feet underfoot, the river at the bottom of the canyon sparkled like a stream of cut diamonds.

The arena had never looked so beautiful, and yet it had never felt so sinister. Elektra would never kill me, and I would never kill her. That left only one option. I would die by my own hand.

I took a step closer to the edge.

"Terra?" Elektra's voice carried across the cool wind.

"It's okay," I said. It was the same lie I had been repeating since the first day.

"No. What are you doing?" she yelled, seeing me taking another step forward. "Come back!"

I heard her light footsteps running across the sand. I took another step.

She grabbed my hand and begged, "No, Terra. No! We'll find another way."

But I shook my head and said, "There is no other way. There never has been. I think I knew that from the start, really. I just never wanted to admit it to myself. I knew I never could kill you, nor could I ever let you die. So this really has been the only way this could ever end." My voice sounded far-off and hollow even to my own ears.

But oddly enough, I wasn't scared. Not as much as I should have been, at least. Because this was the better option. I could never live with myself if I allowed Elektra to die.

I continued, "You're so innocent. You survived the whole Games without hurting or killing a single person. I bet there's never been another victor who managed that."

"I'm not the victor. We'll both get out of here alive. We just need time to think." Her voice was desperate, and I could tell that all her previous happiness and naivety had left her. She knew that one of us had to die.

"Elektra."

She looked up at me with wide eyes at the sound of her name spoken so anxiously.

I took another step closer to the edge. My toes dangled over the precipice and I wobbled precariously on the cliff.

"On your Victory Tour. When you're in District Seven, find my family, okay? Tell them that I love them, all of them. And that I'm sorry."

"Terra, no!" she screamed as I took my final step.

I was flying. I soared over the arid desert, across barren green plains, over the mountains, and into the forests of my home. I saw my family. Mom and Dad and Palmer sat around a dinner table like any normal night. For a split second I could believe that they were happy, until their faces came into unnaturally sharp focus and I could see the tears staining their faces, the way their mouths seemed glued shut.

In the distance, I heard a cannon fire.


End file.
